


The Earth Arena

by Callistemon



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Galax-Arena Series - Gillian Rubinstein
Genre: Acrobatics, Aliens, Angst, Australia, Captivity, Circus, Do not underestimate Foggy, Hurt/Comfort, Matt Murdock Needs a Hug, Matt Murdock and Foggy Nelson at Columbia, Medical Procedures, Precognition, Science Fiction, Slavery, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-09-22 10:30:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 72,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9604085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callistemon/pseuds/Callistemon
Summary: Matt and Foggy are kidnapped at the end of their second year at Columbia Law. They wake up in the hands of Baz, the unpredictable lead trainer for the Earth Arena, the 'greatest circus on Earth'. Baz is convinced Matt will be the next great superstar performer, but Matt's only goal is to play the game long enough to successfully escape the fortress-like compound. While Matt's investigating the extent of Stick's involvement in the kidnapping, Foggy's forced to come to terms with the fact that his college roommate and best friend has hid his incredible skills and abilities from him for two years (and Foggy also discovers that he's a rather talented costume-maker).





	1. You're the quiet one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is very loosely based on Gillian Rubenstein's concept of a human circus performing for alien beings, but the details, circumstances, and characters are very different. I use characters from Daredevil (and a few other Marvel comics) rather than characters from Galax-Arena so there's no need to have read the book. Matt and Foggy are largely based on the Netflix series characterisations, but I draw on the comics as well, particularly when it comes to Elektra. I pick and choose. Happy reading!

“Hey Matt, you’ve got mail,” Foggy said as he entered their dorm room. He nudged the envelope against the back of Matt’s hand. Matt felt the thickness of the envelope before slitting it open, recognising the plain letter stock instead of the thicker Braille paper. “Evidently they don’t know I’m blind,” he grumbled.

“Give it to me,” Foggy said and Matt held out the paper for Foggy to read aloud.

“It’s from the Thurgood Marshall Foundation.”

“Oh cool. I didn’t know there was such a thing.”

“Your hero,” Foggy teased.

“Shut up and read, Mr Smartass.”

“Okay.” Foggy cleared his throat and spoke in his best attempt at a posh accent: “Dear Mr Murdock, we are pleased to invite you to the opening of New York’s new Thurgood Marshall Museum on the 13th May…” He looked up. “That’s the day after our exams finish, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, fuck I should be studying right now in fact.”

“As a promising Columbia Law student… blah blah blah…”

“Foggy, you either read it in full or you don’t,” Matt snapped.

Foggy read the rest of the letter, noting the RSVP date. “You have to respond by tomorrow. It’s a bit late notice, huh.”

“When did we last pick up the mail?”

“Oh yeah, sorry.” Foggy skimmed the letter again. “Hey, I wonder why I didn’t get one.”

Matt shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe you need to be a member of the Thurgood Marshall fan club.”

“There’s a club?” Foggy said with a laugh.

“No, of course not. That was a joke.”

“Ha ha,” Foggy said sarcastically.

“You could come as my plus one?”

“It doesn’t say that you can bring a plus one on here.”

“Oh well, it’ll be a surprise then.”

Matt emailed his RSVP to the provided email address immediately, and then got back to studying. There was a reason Matt had topped every class in his first two years at Columbia Law. Once Matt established a goal, he’d commit to it without exception. He’d spent his last two academic years moving between the classroom, the library, his dorm room, the campus gym, and the occasional rendezvous with one of his many friends with benefits (because despite what Sister Margaret said to him in the orphanage, sex was rather fun, good exercise and a stress relief to boot - although the jury was still out on the ‘straight to hell’ part.). On the rare occasion Foggy managed to drag him outside or to some sort of social event (where Matt admittedly usually had a good time), Matt would end up panicky, guilty and even more obsessed with studying the next day. His only regular break from studying was his near daily trip to the gym – usually late at night when there were few or no other users. Foggy was constantly impressed with Matt’s dedication to not only his study, but also his abs, and although he sometimes worried about Matt’s obsessiveness, Foggy had to admit that his roommate’s focus had rubbed off on him. Foggy had never attained such good grades in all his life.

Neither of them had ever had such a close friendship either. After Foggy learned Matt had never been outside New York City, they’d made plans to do an epic roadtrip over the summer before their third and final year of college. They’d bought a beaten up campervan with the money they’d saved by not getting drunk every weekend, and had drafted a detailed route map with list of museums and parks they wanted to visit. They were both incredibly excited and planned to leave the morning after the museum opening.

On the morning of their last exam for the year, Matt received an email from the Thurgood Marshall Foundation. He quickly opened it.

_“We are pleased to offer transport to the opening of the Thurgood Marshall Museum for the students at Columbia Law. Please wait at the Amsterdam Avenue entrance to St Paul’s Chapel for pick up at 5.30pm sharp.”_

He’d meant to Google the location and bus route to the new museum, but had got distracted by the exam frenzy. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about getting there now. He turned his attention back to the looming exam. ‘Just one more day,’ he repeated to himself.

The following day, Matt could hardly contain his excitement.

“You are such a nerd,” Foggy moaned. Matt had been quoting Marshall all day while they packed up their dorm for the summer. Matt had few belongings and had finished in less than an hour, so he sat down and read from his weathered book instead: _“the legal system can force open doors and sometimes even knock down walls. But it cannot build bridges. That job belongs to you and me.”_

“Dude, as much as I’m enjoying this motivational speech, I need to concentrate on getting my stuff packed, dropping it off at my parents’ place, then getting our asses back to campus for your Marshall transport. Do you reckon you could lend a hand?”

Matt put down the book, and Foggy directed him to chuck everything from his desk into the box on the chair. Matt dutifully complied and Foggy went to work on his clothes. With one suitcase full, Foggy looked over at Matt who was deep in concentration as he placed each object with utmost care into the box. Foggy walked over and peered in. “Geez, if you weren’t blind you would be the world Tetris champion. I just meant scrape everything off the desk into the box. You’ve made a work of art there.”

“You don’t want your dinosaurs to get damaged, Fog,” Matt pointed out.

Foggy shrugged. “They came in a packet of 10 for $1. I’m not really worried.”

They took their roadtrip suitcases down to their campervan so they’d be ready to head off in the morning, and then waited for Foggy’s parents to pick up the rest of their stuff. The original plan was for Matt to attend the opening while Foggy had a farewell dinner with his parents, but just as the trunk of the Nelson family’s car was packed, Mrs Nelson made some comment about Foggy’s weight, which turned into an epic argument and the end of the family dinner plans.

“I guess I’m going to be your plus one after all,” Foggy said as his parents drove away with more baggage than planned.

They sat on a bollard outside St Paul’s to await the museum transport. Matt drew out a book and Foggy moaned, “tell me you didn’t bring your Marshall book to the Marshall _museum_.”

Matt looked offended. “Of course I did, Foggy. It seems only appropriate.”

“But all that information’s going to be there already.”

“Not in Braille it won’t. Besides, it’ll get us in the mood.” He ran his fingers over the book, and started reciting, “ _knock down the fences that divide. Tear apart the walls that imprison. Reach out, freedom lies just on the other side. We should have liberty for all…_ ”

A mini bus pulled up and Matt and Foggy stood expectantly. The driver got out and said, “Matthew Murdock and Mark Fraser?”

“That’s me,” Matt answered. “And this is my plus one, Foggy Nelson.”

The driver retrieved a notepad from his pocket. “I don’t have a Foggy Nelson on the list. I can only pick up Murdock and Fraser. Sorry, mate.”

A young man and two women stared at them through the windows, curious about the delay. “The bus is almost empty, and the opening is in half an hour.” Foggy pointed out. “You can fit an extra person. And Mark whoever isn’t even here.”

“And I’m not coming if Foggy can’t come,” Matt said stubbornly. The driver seemed taken aback by this sudden act of protest. He told them to wait a second and typed something into his phone.

“What are you doing? You want to go so bad,” Foggy hissed at Matt.

“Yeah, but not if you can’t go,” Matt whispered back. “That’s not very Marshall - you know, excluding people.”

“He probably doesn’t even realise who Marshall is. Where do you reckon he’s from? His accent’s weird. Kinda British.”

Matt kicked Foggy. “Shhh…”

The driver finally got his answer and said, “come on mate, get in. It looks like Fraser’s a no show. You’re a bloody lucky guy.” Foggy snorted a little at the turn of phrase.

As they pulled away from the curb, the driver hollered, “so you guys have just finished exams huh?”

Matt nodded and Foggy said, “yeah, yesterday.”

“What now?” the driver asked.

“We’re going to do a roadtrip around the country. We both grew up in the city and haven’t seen much of our mighty fine country.”

“You been to Las Vegas?”

“No, but it’s on our list.”

“Don’t go there,” the driver said.

“Why?”

“Everyone wants your money – casinos, crooks, pimps. Nah, there are so many beautiful national parks around Vegas. You should go bush instead.”

“Oh, okay…” Everyone had excitedly asked if they were visiting Las Vegas, but this guy was the first to tell them not to.

“Call me Baz, by the way.”

“Baz,” Matt repeated.

“You’re the quiet one, huh?” Baz said to Matt. “Do you prefer Matthew or Matt or something else completely?”

“Matt please,” Matt said quietly.

“So we have Matt and Foggy of Columbia Law, Elektra – school of humanities, Yasmin – still deciding, and last but not least, Clint, who’s too clever to waste his money on college.” Baz gave Clint a wink in the rear vision mirror and Clint grinned back.

They all murmured hellos to each other. Baz threw a packet of chocolates into the second row where Clint was seated. “Get some of these in you. You can’t get chocolate like this in the USA.” Clint picked up the packet. “Caramello Koalas,” he read out loud. He pulled out a bright yellow wrapped chocolate and handed the packet on. By the time Matt was passed the packet, they were all happily munching on their caramel-filled koalas. Matt tore open the wrapper and sniffed it cautiously. There was something not quite right about Baz and the bus, and now the chocolates smelled like a chemical… he couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it was something Stick had told him never to ingest. He became aware of the sudden silence in the bus. His fellow passengers had simultaneously fallen asleep. He fingered the wrapper a little, and then tried to slip it down the side of the seat without drawing attention.

“Don’t like chocolate, Matt?” Baz boomed and Matt jumped slightly.

“Um, I get a bit carsick. Thought I’d save it for later.”

“Do you want some water? I think I have some ginger chews here – they’re good for nausea,” Baz countered.

“How long till we arrive?” Matt asked, trying to sound neutral and composed.

“A little while longer. It’s just out of the city.”

Matt heard the jump of Baz’s heart and cursed at his own stupidity. He should have looked up the address. Was there even a museum? He had his mobile phone, but couldn’t Google it without speaking.

He could still hear the sounds of heavy traffic around him, so they hadn’t made it out of the city yet. That’s if they were even going out of the city. Perhaps he could slip out the door when they stopped at the next traffic lights. But then there was Foggy. He had to get Foggy out too.

Baz was fiddling with something as he drove. It sounded like a cartridge being loaded into a plastic vestibule. Matt got a whiff of the chemical again, this time stronger. As they drew up at the traffic lights and Matt got ready to leap at the door, Baz turned around and spit a dart at Matt’s shoulder. Matt whipped around and pulled out the dart, but it was too late and he slumped over unconscious.

 


	2. What Skills?

When Matt roused he found himself handcuffed, the cuffs attached low to a belt around his waist. His head was fuzzy due to the tranquilliser and he was half slumped on someone’s shoulder. He shifted a little, pulling weakly at the restraints. “Matt,” Foggy whispered. “Oh thank god.” It was Foggy’s shoulder he’d been drooling on.

“I thought you’d never wake up. Apparently they’re waiting for you to wake up before they move us.”

“Move us where?” Matt slurred.

“I don’t know. I don’t even know where we are. They blindfolded us, but as far as I can tell, we’re on a plane. It was still moving a bit when I woke up.”

At Foggy’s words, Matt realised they’d blindfolded him too. The rough fabric scraped across his eyelids. He must have been groggier that he thought. What else was he missing?

“Where’re my glasses?”

“They’re not on your face?”

“They blindfoll me,” Matt mumbled.

“Seems a bit redundant.”

Matt groaned in agreement.

“They gagged the others when they yelled,” Foggy whispered. Matt could hear the sound of his fellow captives down the other end of the plane. “I wanted to be able to talk to you when you woke up, so I kept quiet.”

Matt gave another small groan.

Someone thundered down the aisle, “hey Baz, your sleeping beauty’s awake.”

“Thanks, mate,” Baz yelled back.

Matt struggled to reconcile what he was hearing. Baz was the driver. They were going to the museum opening. Then they got drugged. Baz shot him with a dart laced with something. Now they were on a plane. He could smell the aeroplane fuel, the aging pleather seats, the slight mouldy smell of a poorly maintained air-conditioning system, and his own fear-laced sweat. The doors were evidently still closed, and the air-conditioning pumping. _Why were they here?_

“You’re back with us, Matty,” Baz drawled, adopting Matt’s pet name and stroking his head. Matt pulled away quickly and was hit with a disorienting dizziness. Baz wiped a string of saliva from the corner of Matt’s mouth, his thumb rough and worn. Matt briefly considered biting the hand, but figured he’d play nice until they were at least out of the locked plane.

“Y’know you don’t need to blindfold me. I’m already blind,” Matt muttered.

Baz patted him on the head. “We don’t discriminate here, mate.”

“And the Fogster,” Baz exclaimed, turning his attention to Foggy. “Don’t know what we’re going to do with you,” he muttered less-than-enthusiastically.

“Return me and Matt to New York?” Foggy said.

“Hmmm… no. We’ll find something for you. Maybe we could turn you into something yet. Wotcha think, Matty? If Foglet lost a few kilos and trained a bit, would he be able to match your skills?”

“I don’t have skills,” Matt whispered.

“Pfft. You’re going to be a star, Matty. A star.”

Baz yelled to his fellow kidnappers down the other end of the plane, “hey, I reckon we’ll disembark now. Could you grab the mask for mister bloodhound here?”

Matt could hear an exchange take place, and then his head was held still from behind while a rubber gas mask was fitted over his head. “Sorry, mate. Can’t take any chances with a guy with senses like yours.” Matt twisted violently and tried to rub it off on the seat. “Matty, I don’t want to have to drug you again. Not an asset like you.” Matt stopped moving. There's no chance of escape if he's unconscious. He had to know where they were. “That a boy,” Baz said, patting Matt’s head. “I’m going to lead you out now. Don’t even think about doing anything funny. I know what you’re capable of, thanks to good ol’ Stick.”

Matt was floored. _What?!_ Was this some elaborate game concocted by his former mentor and trainer? Was it the ultimate challenge? Stick had given up on him. Why start again now? Matt tried to yell out, threaten, anything, but his words were muffled by the mask. He started hyperventilating as he tried to draw in oxygen. The air was so warm, so stagnant.

“One last thing,” Baz said as he shoved a couple of soft earplugs in Matt’s ears. Matt pulled away, but Baz warned, “remember what I said about the tranquilliser, Matty? Don’t make me do it.” Matt figured he could still hear through earplugs and capitulated, but then instantly regretted it when some earmuffs were placed on top. Matt decided to risk the tranquilliser, and tried to get up, falling sideways when the cuffs holding his ankles didn’t budge. They were tied to the floor. As he was distracted, someone came up from behind and wrapped something over the muffs, squishing the earpieces into the sides of his head.

Foggy could only glean bits and pieces of what was going on. He easily deduced that they’d essentially gagged Matt with a mask, and he could hear the familiar sound of gaffer tape being roughly unfurled, but couldn’t figure out what they were talking about. What _was_ Matt capable of? Who was Stick? Why did it elicit such a rise out of Matt? With great trepidation, Foggy silently waited for a mask of his own, but it didn’t come. “You’ll make a good pet,” Baz said, patting Foggy again. “Good boy.”

“Fuck you,” Foggy spat. Playing nice wasn’t helping after all.

Baz lazily grabbed a cloth from his pocket and tied it round Foggy’s head. “You had your chance, Fogmeister.” Baz kicked something under Foggy’s seat and the shackles around his ankles were released from the floor anchor. “Time to move,” Baz said, pulling Foggy under the arm, more gentle than Foggy would expect from a kidnapper. Foggy gingerly stood up. They’d removed his shoes and socks and Foggy swore into the gag as he stubbed his toe on the base of the chair. Baz pushed him forward and said, “Stu, you take this one. I’ll take Matty. He’ll probably put up a fight so Tommo you follow from behind.”

Foggy wondered why they needed two guards on a blind guy who was hand and ankle cuffed and deprived of three of his four working senses. I mean, Matt worked out, but there’s no way he could fight these guys.

Foggy felt a rush of hot air as the plane door opened. He could hear the others being led down the stairs. Apparently Elektra had been given a similar sensory deprivation treatment to Matt because they didn’t speak directly to her. Stu pulled Foggy down the aisle and led him down the hot steps, steadying him as he stumbled slightly in the ankle restraints. As he stepped onto the ground, he swore into the gag as his feet touched even hotter sand. The heat was suffocating and made his skin prickle uncomfortably. He could feel beads of sweat already forming on his forehead and cheeks. They weren’t in New York anymore, that’s for sure.

“Ah, home sweet home,” Baz called from the top of the stairs. “The Australian desert, nothing like it.” Foggy stumbled in fright. How was that even possible? How had he slept through something like that?

Matt swayed a little at the top of the stairs, fortunately flanked by two people who held him up. He was still wobbly from the tranquillisers, and even if he wasn’t deprived of all senses apart from touch, he knew he wouldn’t be working at optimum levels anyway. Matt shuffled forward, tightly held by Baz and Tommo. The metal stairs stung the soles of his feet as he was slowly half-led, half-lifted down. He gave a gasp of surprise when his feet met the hot sand. He could vaguely hear Baz’s voice and the hum of the plane, but the words were indistinct so he had to come to his own conclusions about the sand and the heat. He could swear it was all around him – an angry sun with no shadows, burning him from every angle. There was a slight cool breeze on his ankles, slightly relieving the burn of his bare feet on the deep sand.

Matt was inwardly panicking at the sensory deprivation. Even if he weren’t in a kidnapping situation, he would have panicked. He had to do something. There was no doubt. He braced himself and after fifteen or so steps, Matt suddenly twisted his body, ripping his arms away from his keepers. Foggy heard Tommo say “what the fuck?” and Baz laugh, “told you he was special.” Matt stumbled on the dry sand, collected himself and tried to run, but the chains on his legs didn’t give him much of a stride. Tommo followed and grabbed him by the arm, which Matt used to swing himself around and head butt Tommo in his upper back, slightly dislodging the mask. Matt breathed in the narrow stream of fresh air, but he couldn’t use it to locate himself. He could only smell jet fuel combined with the rubber of the mask. “ _Cunt_ ,” Tommo yelled.

“Don’t hurt our star,” called Baz, completely unflustered.

“Well, you get him then,” Tommo yelled back.

Matt stumbled on the sand again, and fell on his side, writhing in an attempt to get back up. He’d got in one good blow, but the combination of sensory deprivation and drugs had made him unable to move as he normally would. He’d just got back onto his knees when he felt a jab on his neck and a wave of calm as the tranquilliser flowed through his body.

“Sorry mate, I warned you,” Baz said to the unconscious Matt.

Foggy had stopped when the commotion had started, but at Baz’s words he turned around and tried to come to Matt’s aid, wherever that was. He headed in the direction of Baz and Tommo who were discussing the best way to transport Matt now that he was unconscious. “Oh look, Matty’s bestie has come to help.” Stu let Foggy approach, recognising Foggy wasn’t much of a threat. Foggy tried to yell something through the gag, coughing as it became harder to draw an adequate breath. “Hey matey, let’s get this off you,” Baz said kindly.

Foggy puzzled. _What was his game_? But he didn’t move away when Baz untied the back of his gag. “What did you do?” Foggy moaned. “Matt?”

“Oh, he’ll be sleeping for a bit longer,” Baz said unconcerned. “Gave him a bit less this time. Don’t want him to miss all the fun.”

“Can you take this blindfold off so I can check if he’s okay?” Foggy said.

“Oh, we’ll make sure he’s okay. Don’t you worry about that.” Baz patted Foggy affectionately and he jerked away. “Don’t be like that, Foggo,” Baz said. “You’ll be back to swapping BFF bracelets with Matty soon, don’t you worry.”

“Carry him,” Baz ordered Tommo.

“Oh come on,” Tommo whined. “He weighs a ton. Have you seen those muscles?”

“Okay, Stu, you take the feet; Tommo, you take the head. Make sure you hold him under the armpits though. We don’t want him hurt.” Baz stroked Foggy’s hair. “Fog-fog, you’ll be right following Matty, won’t you?” Foggy didn’t respond, but evidently Baz knew him better than he thought. Of course he was going wherever Matt was going.

They walked for what seemed like half an hour, but with the heavy sand and restricting ankle cuffs, they probably only covered a short distance. He could no longer hear the sounds of the other three captives being moved, although there were more people yelling up ahead. They finally stopped outside a building. He could hear the sound of sliding doors opening in front of him, and the rush of cold air. The relief! He was pushed through the entrance and the doors slid closed behind him. He barely had a chance to breath when he heard the whoosh of another set of doors sliding open and he was pushed into another room, the doors sliding behind him once again.

“Right, we’re going to take you to your rooms. You can get changed, have a bath, get some water in you before we introduce you to the others (‘ _others’!?)_. You’ve had a long journey. We’re going to take Matty to the medical centre. Just to make sure he wakes up safe and sound.”

“I want to go with him,” Foggy said.

“Yeah nah, I don’t think so. Sorry, Fogster. It’s best you get changed here.”

“Please. He’ll get super confused and anxious if I’m not there. It’ll be better for you and him if I’m there. That’s if you’re really serious about taking good care of him.”

“That’s a good point. I can see why you wanted to be a lawyer.”

_Wanted_ , Foggy repeated in his head. Fuck.

“Okay, we’ll just bundle Matty here into a wheelchair.”

“Thank fuck,” Tommo said. “Can we put him down then?”

“Yeah, but be gentle, okay? Precious cargo and all that. Grab a wheelchair from 6.09.”

“Right-o, boss.”

Foggy couldn’t work it out. What type of place was this that it had wheelchairs and medical centres? He felt a wave of nausea and he gagged.

“Hang on,” Baz said, pulling out a bag from his pocket and holding it below Foggy’s face. “Okay, now you can spew.”

Foggy emptied the meagre contents of his stomach into the bag. If they _were_ telling the truth then he hadn’t eaten for 24 odd hours.

Tommo returned with the wheelchair, and Baz handed him the bag of vomit. “Here, do something with this.”

“What did I do to deserve this shit?” Tommo whined.

“You let a restrained guy with only one working sense knock you down, you weak cunt. That’s what,” Baz mocked. Stu let out an amused snort.

“Stu, help me get Matty in the bloody chair would you?”

Foggy heard them groan as they lifted Matt off the floor.

“Geez you weren’t wrong about him being heavy ay,” Baz huffed.

“Mega Fog, do you reckon you could help me push Matty?” Baz said. Foggy was growing weary of the nicknames and Baz’s pseudo-caring attitude.

Baz led the way while Foggy shuffled behind, pushing Matt, while still wearing the restraints and blindfold. It was completely absurd. Stu had his hand on Foggy’s back, leading him from behind, but Foggy still went slowly, cautiously, not wanting to accidentally bash Matt into something. But then Baz kept calling Matt a ‘star’ not to be hurt. There was no way he’d let Foggy ram Matt into something, right?

They must have passed through six or seven more doors before they entered a room that smelled distinctly like a medical centre: antiseptic, medical alcohol, plastic and a tinge of… ergh, Foggy retched again.

“I’ve run out of bags, Fog. Can you keep it in this time please,” Baz said lazily.

Foggy took some deep breaths, trying to keep his nausea at bay. “Could I have some water?” he croaked. His mouth was dry from the combination of hot air, and air-conditioned plane and building, and still had the sour tang of vomit.

“Shit of course, mate. Sorry. Oh and I’ll take this off ya too now that we’re here.” Baz untied the blindfold and pulled out the keys to Foggy’s cuffs. Foggy looked around the room as Baz unlocked each of the cuffs. He should probably fight, but then what kind of match was he for the muscly Baz and the warren of rooms and corridors. There was a mirrored sliding door along one wall and a row of locked cupboards along another. A couple of designer plastic chairs flanked the door through which they’d just come. A plastic shelving unit held a dozen bottles of water and a few boxes of tissues, and had a half-dead looking pot plant balanced on top. Other than that, the room was empty. Baz grabbed a bottle of water from the unit, and threw one to Foggy, who surprised himself when he caught it with only a slight stumble.

“There’s hope for you yet,” beamed Baz. “High five,” he said, putting his hand up to Foggy. Foggy looked back with a mixture of confusion and distain. “I thought you Yanks loved the ol’ high five,” Baz said in mock-hurt.

Foggy reached for Matt’s wrist to take his pulse, but Baz batted Foggy’s hand away. “Nah-uh. Leave that to the professionals.”

“Can I at least take off the mask?” Foggy pleaded. “What if he can’t breathe?”

“He can breathe. Sylvia will make sure of that.”

He tapped his foot. “Where is she?” he said to himself, and pressed the button next to the door.

Almost instantly, the doors slid open and a middle-aged woman stood there looking cross. “I’ve told you, Baz. Press the button once and once only. If I don’t come straight away it’s because I’m tending to something more important than you, _shock horror_.”

“Sylv, nothing is as important as me.”

Foggy looked from the woman to Baz and back to the woman again. Matt was unconscious in a wheelchair and they were conducting casual workplace banter?

“What have you got for me now?” she said, walking into the room. She swore as she saw Matt’s slumped body. “Geez, we’ve talked about this too.” She said, quickly removing Matt’s mask, earmuffs and blindfold, and reaching down to take his pulse. “Did he faint or did you get trigger happy again?”

“This is Matthew Murdock, fighter extraordinaire. He managed to get away. Even landed a blow to Tommo in this get-up. Bloody impressive if you ask me,” Baz said in admiration.

Sylvia gave him a dirty look.

“I gave him another dose just outside,” Baz confessed.

Sylvia swore again. “Follow me,” she said brusquely, pushing Matt through the still-open doors. “And who’s that guy?” she said, referring to Foggy.

“His bestie. Wanted to come. Bet you regret it now, hey Fogrug?”

Foggy ignored him.

They walked through another room that had a glass window into what looked like an operating table, white and chrome with all kinds of medical equipment lining the walls. This was no low-budget set-up. Was it some kind of testing facility? Shit, were they going to be human test subjects? Foggy started hyperventilating.

“Get a grip, Fogster. I know you’re jealous, but it’s Matty’s turn now.”

“That’s not-” Foggy wheezed. Sylvia and Baz lifted Matt onto a thin bed and Sylvia clipped something onto Matt’s finger, placing an oxygen mask over his face. “I keep telling you, the additional tranquilliser is exceptionally risky.” She took out a penlight and flashed it in Matt’s eyes. “How much did you-” She stopped, evidently alarmed at his lack of pupil response.

“He’s blind,” Foggy blurted out. “No light perception.”

“Phew,” Sylvia said. “Thought you’d blinded him for a sec there, Baz.” She glanced at the tablet next to the bed. “There’s nothing in his records about him being blind.”

“Really?” Baz looked over her shoulder, murmuring to himself as he read what must have been Matt’s medical history. “Did we get the wrong guy?” he laughed at his own joke. Or at least Foggy assumed Baz meant it as a joke. Why the fuck was that even funny.

“How much did you give him?” she tried again, placing electrodes on Matt’s chest and hooking them to a monitor.

“The usual amount,” Baz muttered.

“Which is?”

“A bit less than the old usual,” he shrugged.

Sylvia groaned. “For fuck’s sake,” she said under her breath. She took Matt’s blood pressure, typing the numbers into the tablet. Muttering about the heat and dehydration, she deftly placed a cannula in his hand, hooking it up to a saline drip. As soon as she was finished, Baz lifted up each of Matt’s wrists and attached the soft cuffs that were hanging from the edge of the bed as a matter of course. There was no doubting that they were very much still prisoners.

“Careful of his line,” Syliva snapped at Baz as he returned Matt’s hands to the bed.

Syliva looked Foggy up and down. “How are you, love?” she asked, her tone softening.

“Huh?” Foggy responded, confused at her tone of kindness.

“Do you need some water?”

Foggy lifted up the bottle in his hand. “Er, no… thanks.”

She pushed a small stainless steel trolley over to Matt’s side and extracted a series of empty glass tubes from the cupboard underneath. Foggy watched in horror as she took five tubes of Matt’s blood, labelling them neatly and placing them in a small box.

“We might as well do you too now,” she said, turning to Foggy. “Do you have a history of fainting?” Foggy tried to back away, but Baz caught him. “I don’t want to call back up, mate. They’re not nearly as good natured as me.”

“Um, no. I don’t think so,” Foggy said weakly.

“Do you know your blood type?”

Foggy shook his head.

“Come over here.” She sat him down on a large cushioned armchair and took his pulse and blood pressure. She fiddled with the tablet for a bit. “I can’t find this one,” she said to Baz.

“Yeah, he wasn’t on the list, remember?”

“That’s right.” Tapping away at the tablet, she said, “could you tell me your full name?”

Foggy’s breath hitched. Maybe he should give a different name. But Baz boomed “Franklin Nelson of New York City” in his best New York accent. Shit, Foggy had already given his name at the Columbia pick up.

Sylvia took five vials of blood from Foggy, just as she had with Matt. Just as she had finished labelling them, a young man popped his head in to give Sylvia an update on a Ms Malcolm. He and Baz nodded to each other: “Baz,” nod, “Chester, mate” nod. Grunt.

Sylvia waved Chester off before realising her mistake and calling him back to take the blood samples. “I’ve just started a new profile for Franklin Nelson. Could you fill out the basic details for me please.”

“Call him Foggy,” Baz said, winking at Foggy as if they were best mates.

Matt shifted with a moan. “Thank fuck,” Foggy said, rushing to Matt’s side.

“Hold on, Foghorn,” Baz said, holding Foggy back. “Gotta let Sylv look at him first.”

“Matthew?” Sylvie said, one hand gently on his shoulder.

Matt groaned and licked his lips irritably. He couldn’t ground himself. He opened his eyes, half expecting it to sharpen his other senses. There was a mask on his face. A flash of memory. He had to get it off. He whipped his arms up and moaned painfully when the restraints pulled back. He tried to rub the mask off on the pillow by rolling his head sideways, and it had the desired effect of being removed by a third party. He huffed in relief, but immediately started struggling again when it was replaced by a nasal cannula.

“Where?” Matt grunted. Foggy let out a small whine when he realised there was no way to explain the situation to Matt at this point. He wouldn’t even know how to explain it to himself.

“You’re in the medical centre,” Syliva explained patiently. “We’re just giving you some fluids and checking your vitals and then you can go back to your quarters.”

“Strictly speaking, it’s _to_ the quarters, not back,” Baz muttered.

Matt jumped again at Baz’s voice. “Noooo…” his voice wavered. He was having trouble putting two and two together. There was a bus, and a kidnapping, and he tried to escape, and now he was in hospital… where? Baz was still here though. He hadn’t escaped. Or had he?

“Can I?” Foggy asked Baz, who said, “knock yourself out.”

“Foggy?” Matt asked nervously.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“Where are we?”

“Um, I don’t”

“You’re in the Earth Arena!” Baz boomed in his best show voice.

Foggy and Matt both stopped. “The what?”

“You, Matty, are going to be a bloody star.” Baz walked forward and patted Matt’s now very dirty bare foot affectionately. “I don’t know what you’ll be mate, sorry,” he said looking down at Foggy. “Maybe you can sew the costumes. Can you sew?”

Foggy looked at him wide-eyed.

“No? Okay, just a thought. Any useful skills?”

Foggy still just stared at him.

“Riiiight… I guess we’ll just have to find out.”

Baz started tapping his foot again impatiently. “Is he ready to go yet?”

“Not just yet. We’ll finish the drip and _then_ he’s all yours.”

Matt started struggling again.

Baz tutted. “Even if you get out of those restraints, you’ll never make it out of this building, let alone the desert that surrounds us for thousands of kilometers. You’ll die before you see another living thing – well, apart from the giant spiny lizards. Nope, don’t waste your energy, Matty.”

Matt ignored him and kept pulling. Foggy didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to tell Matt to stop because that would mean he was on Baz’s side, but he also didn’t want Matt to hurt himself. In the end, he put his hand in Matt’s, in an attempt to calm him down.

“Oh, isn’t that nice,” Baz gushed. “Besties forever.”

Foggy flashed him a foul look, and Baz made a dramatic show of backing off, hands raised.

Baz was getting twitchy with inaction. Foggy watched him pull out a small tablet, wondering if there was a chance he could steal it and email his parents… what were his chances. Whoever set this place up had a lot of money to burn. And why Australia of all places?

“We can’t be in Australia,” Foggy said out loud.

“What?” Matt said, confused.

“Of course we can be in Australia,” Baz argued. “You felt the Great Sandy Desert under your very feet. You don’t get that in New York.” Baz pronounced New York with an American accent again, chuckling.

“But how? We weren’t travelling that long.”

“You were asleep, Fogfog, how would you even know?” Baz said as if it was the most obvious thing ever.

“Well, I would have needed to go to the bathroom by now.”

“Yeah, well we took care of that for you.”

Foggy and Matt’s mouths dropped. “You violated us?” Foggy said.

“No, don’t get your knickers in a knot. We had a nurse look after you all. Very professional. She’s registered with both the Australian and American nursing boards.”

“Still not consensual.”

“Don’t go all lawyery on me now, Fog. Besides, none of this is consensual. I would have thought you would have worried about where you are now rather than the method of getting here.”

Matt piped up, “so where are we?”

“Australia, Earth.”

“Yeah so we’ve heard. You know what I mean, what is this?”

“The Earth Arena.” Baz did his jazz hands move again.

“What’s that?”

“Exactly as it sounds. Beings from all over the galaxy visit Earth just to see the arena. You are the best of the best… well, one of you is.”

“That’s ridiculous. You mean to say aliens touch down in the middle of Australia all the time without detection?”

“Yep.”

Matt snorted derisively. “The joke’s over, can you just return us to Columbia now please.”

“Oh it’s no joke, Matty.” Matt cringed at Baz’s use of his pet name. Only his father, Stick, and occasionally Foggy had ever called him that.

Matt suddenly remembered the mention of Stick on the plane. “So what’s Stick’s involvement in all this?”

“Oh, none really. He just has a knack of identifying you special kids. When we were looking for new recruits lately, we looked up some of his former students and bingo, we found you and Elektra.”

“Who’s Stick?” Foggy demanded.

“No one,” Matt whispered. He felt responsible for Foggy’s capture already. Now Foggy was going to find out that he’d lied to him about his abilities and skills all year.

“Oh no, he’s someone. _Was_ someone.”

“What did you do to him?”

Baz shrugged. Matt detected the heartbeat of a lie. Baz knew something. He’d return to this subject later.

“So you brought us here to perform like circus animals?”

“Mate, humans are animals too. So yes, I guess circus animals is one way to put it. But you know, you’re going to be great. I can feel it in my bones. You’re special, Matty. You’ll be a star. People – well, intelligent beings - will come from far and wide to see you.”

Foggy gave an irritated sigh.

“Now, now, no need to get jealous, Fogmeister” Baz reprimanded. “We’ll find something for you to do, remember.”

“This is absurd,” Matt said. “Aliens visiting Earth to see a circus of kidnapped humans.”

“I hate to tell you, Matty, but most aliens don’t visit Earth just to destroy New York. Most tourists who visit the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the western spiral arm of the galaxy are here to see genuinely unique places. Planets that have not been exposed to galaxisation. The Earth Arena is a kind of ambassador program, promising tourists extraordinary performances by some our most extraordinary inhabitants. You should be proud to be a part.” Baz patted Matt’s ankle again, and he pulled it away scowling.

“Uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end,” Foggy muttered. “That’s a quote from Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. What kind of fools do you think we are?”

“You know your popular culture. There’s a tick for you. Maybe you could whip up some costumes after all. Oh - are you into cosplay?”

Matt and Foggy were utterly confused. This guy was exhausting. He didn’t seem fazed by anything, and evidently couldn’t comprehend why they were angry. What was the word he used? _Proud_.

Matt rubbed his head irritably. There were three possibilities, he thought. One, Baz was mad. Completely and utterly mad, and this was some elaborate scheme to… no, where did he get the money to indulge in such an expensive alternate reality and get these people to play along? There was no way. Possibility two: it was a scam. Maybe they were ringing Foggy’s parents right now looking for ransom money. But that didn’t make sense either. They wanted _Matt_. No one would pay money for him. Besides, if it was just a simple kidnapping why the façade? Why not just chuck them in a basement somewhere? Or maybe it was some sort of elaborate joke – a hazing ritual for unsuspecting Columbia students. Or something like the Truman Show… maybe this was being broadcast…that couldn’t be legal though… There was no way. Matt reluctantly thought out the third option: it was a performance centre for visiting aliens. Fuck. When compared to the first two options, it seemed almost plausible.

He needed to figure out how much they knew about his abilities too. They kept telling him he was going to be a ‘star’. Did Stick tell them about Matt’s senses? His training? Was he a willing participant in this scheme, or was he forced? Matt knew Stick couldn’t be forced into anything. Perhaps Stick didn’t even realise they’d taken him. Matt hadn’t had any contact since his mentor abandoned him mid-training almost two decades ago.

“Right. Looks like you’ve drained the bag, mate. Let’s go,” Baz said before Matt could probe any further.

Sylvie interrupted, “just give me a minute. I need to check his vitals before I hand him over.”

“So possessive,” muttered Baz under his breath.

Matt almost wanted to stay in the medical centre, as uncomfortable as the current situation was. Sylvia seemed infinitely less terrifying than the upbeat Baz. Matt could feel Foggy’s hand shaking slightly. He would have to go with Baz for Foggy, if nothing else.

She finally seemed satisfied with Matt’s condition, and quickly removed the heart monitor, oxygen and IV. “I’ll let you do the restraints,” she said stepping back. “Do you want to take him into the holding area first?”

Baz thought about it for a second, then said, “no, I can trust him to come quietly, can’t I, Matty.” He said it in his usual chipper voice, but it almost sounded like a threat. _‘Come quietly, my ass,_ ’ Matt thought to himself, readying himself to take Baz and Sylvia down as soon as he was unleashed. The combination of fluids and oxygen had replenished him, and his senses had almost returned to normal. He could sense all the objects in the room. There was ample equipment to grab and use as a weapon. Lethal weapons if need be.

“There’s just one thing I need to do first,” Baz said casually, pulling his tablet from his pocket. He pressed the screen and Matt screamed in pain as the device emitted an unbelievably high-pitched note, that seemed to cut right into his brain.

“What are you doing?” Foggy yelled, throwing himself at Baz.

Baz lifted his finger off the screen. “Ah, the common folk finally revolt,” he said smiling at Foggy.

Tears were running down Matt’s face and he was struggling to catch a breath. Sylvia gave Baz an icy glare and tried to calm Matt down.

“What the hell was that?” Foggy demanded.

“Just a test. You’re going to come _quietly_ aren’t you Matt,” Baz said, slower this time. Matt nodded. He was still shaking. Foggy, Baz and Sylvia seemed unaffected by the noise, so he figured it was designed for his hearing range only. They _did_ know about his senses and they were now using tailored weapons against him. Baz undid the soft cuffs around Matt’s wrists and massaged them a little. “The soreness will disappear in a couple of days,” Baz said reassuringly. Matt angrily pulled his hands away.

Foggy helped Matt off the bed and handed him his shirt and coat that had been removed when the monitor leads were attached.

“Oh, you won’t be needing those old things.” Baz snatched them back.

“Give them back,” Matt growled.

“I said you _won’t_ be _needing_ them. You’ll get new clothes.” He held the jacket in front of him. “Clothes that don’t have holes in them in fact.” He sniffed the jacket. “Phew. No, we can do better than this for you, Matty.

Matt was incensed. It was his father’s dress jacket – the jacket he got out for special occasions like the supposed Marshall Museum launch.

“Give the jacket back,” Matt repeated, hand outstretched.

“Well, if you’re going to be a baby about it, fine.” Baz threw the jacket far from Matt’s left side, and Matt quickly lunged and caught it with ease. Foggy narrowed his eyes. _How did Matt – what_?

“Just as I thought.” Baz clapped his hands enthusiastically. “I can’t wait to see what else you can do.”

“What can you do?” Foggy appealed to Matt, trying to work out if the man he shared a dorm with for the last year was the man he thought he was. Matt ignored the question, quickly donning the jacket and reaching out for Foggy’s hand.

“Well this is awkward. Fogster. Did you really not know about Matt’s, um, what do you prefer to call them? Gifts? Powers?”

Foggy let go of Matt’s hand and stared at him. Matt’s eyes were as unresponsive as ever, but his mouth was twitching a little, as if he was trying not to cry. “It’s nothing Foggy,” Matt muttered. “When I lost my sight, my other senses just got a bit more acute to compensate. That’s all.”

“So modest,” Baz said dreamily. “Try a _lot_ more acute. Your friend can hear sounds us mortals can only dream of.”

“So you can’t, um, burn things with your eyes or anything,” Foggy said, only half-joking.

Matt screwed up his face. “I can’t even _see_ with my eyes, Foggy.” He gently kicked Foggy’s foot, who took the hint.

Foggy adopted a nonchalant tone that was a little too forced. “Oh okay. Whatever.”

Baz opened the sliding doors with a swipe of a card, and beckoned Foggy and Matt to follow.

“Where’s my cane?” Matt asked.

Baz called over his shoulder, “we all know you don’t need one. Not really. You’ll find your way around soon enough. Come along if you’re coming… which you are.”

Foggy nudged Matt, who grabbed Foggy’s arm gratefully. Just because he had super senses that somewhat compensated for his lost vision, it didn’t necessarily mean navigation was easy. Besides, he needed to concentrate on mapping this place in his head, and it would be best if he didn’t have to worry about bumping into irrelevant objects at the same time.

They wandered through the white labyrinthine hallways, stopping now and again as Baz swiped them through a door. Foggy occasionally whispered an observation to Matt, but there were very little decorations or specific features to comment on. As they approached a large set of double doors, Foggy whispered, “these doors are painted like a galaxy and have ‘The Stars’ written across them in glitter.” Matt raised his eyebrows.

Baz looked at his tablet. “The others got a bit of a head start on you. It looks like they’re eating in the ref.” Foggy shuddered at the thought of the constant surveillance they were likely to be under. “Wait for it…” Baz said excitedly. “Wait….” He lunged forward and swiped the access point. “Ta da! Your new home.”

 


	3. We're a little bit fucked

Matt tried to get a read on the space through the doors. For all he could tell it was just an empty room. Foggy was even more puzzled. It was an empty white room.

“Tough crowd,” Baz muttered. “Come along!”

They threaded their way round a couple of corners until they came to a large room divided into small vestibules with walls only slightly taller than Matt. Each had a bed and small cabinet. “We have given you these two beds over here.” Baz stopped at the double vestibule. They’re a bit shitty because they’re near the toilet, but they’re also the only two empties that are side-by-side. I figured you besties would prefer that, ay.”

“I suppose you’d both like a bath.” Neither of them responded, but Baz wasn’t fazed. “I’ll show you anyway. Take it from me, you both need one.” They wandered around to a landscaped pool. It mimicked a series of waterholes, culminating in a large deep pool. There were overhanging rocks, and caves, a small waterfall, plant life, a large tree in the centre, and a complicated web of ropes that stretched climbed high above the pool.

Matt could hear the flow of water over rocks. “It’s moving,” he murmured.

“Knew you were smart, Matty,” Baz said. We use the rocks and sand to filter the water. We add salt and test it twice a day, of course, but it’s the best water you’ll get. No chlorine or any of that icky chemical shit.”

“Of course, it also means that we don’t allow shampoo in the bath. If you want to wash your hair, there are basins over there.” Baz pointed, and watched Matt’s face carefully to see if he acknowledged the gesture. Matt, however, had mastered the art of ignoring such movements and didn’t move. He knew this was a game and he didn’t want to play. Foggy piped up instead, murmuring “your 8 o’clock. Along the wall.”

Foggy thought for a moment. “So hang on, you want us to bathe communally? No showers.”

“Yep. It’ll be fun.” Said Baz, ever chipper. “There are ropes and-”

“Ow!” Foggy said, thinking of rope on bare skin. Then “ew” as he thought about people climbing the ropes naked.

Baz seemed to read his mind because he said, “if you want to be a prude, you can always wear your clothes, but it’ll be a lot less complicated if you can just forget your inhibitions. You don’t see dogs fretting because they’re not wearing clothes, do you, and they’re the happiest creatures on earth.”

“They have a fur coat already,” Foggy pointed out.

“That’s the spirit!” Baz grinned and slapped Foggy on the shoulder. Foggy couldn’t work out who had just misinterpreted who.

“Now what else,” Baz said to himself. “Oh that’s right - clothes.”

Matt had no doubt that the slightly disorganised rambling was all for show. He listened to Baz’s heartbeat, trying to identify patterns of truth and lies, but it was all over the place, even when it shouldn’t have been – times when there was no way Baz was lying. He concentrated harder. Perhaps it was a heart condition, or maybe –

“ _Matt!_ ” Foggy whispered with emphasis.

“Mmm?”

“I was just asking you if you could swim,” Foggy whispered.

“Um, I’m sure I could.” Matt shrugged.

“So you’ve never learned either?”

“We didn’t exactly grow up in a ‘learn to swim’ kind of area, did we.”

“You’ll probably get it straight away, you lucky bastard,” Foggy said facetiously. “Just my luck getting kidnapped by people who provide lush deep pools instead of showers.”

They walked into a small room off the baths that held shelves of folded beige clothes. “Matty, you look like you might be a L60,” he said, handing Matt a single piece. “And Fogstone, um, maybe try this one, T30. If not, we’ll make something up for you.” Matt was running his hands along the fabric, grimacing at the pilled areas around the thighs and armpits. Baz spotted his face, and swapped it for another. “That one probably needs to be binned ay.” The replacement was smoother - much smoother than Matt’s own clothes in fact.

Foggy held the beige onesie out in front of him. “You want us to wear this as underwear?” he said in disbelief.

“Oh no, those are your actual clothes. It’s good for movement. Put them on, move around. You’ll see.”

“No-o” Foggy said stubbornly.

“Fine. Wear your stinky old clothes. But don’t blame me when the others laugh at you.”

“Some choice,” Matt muttered.

“Oh and feel free to change clothes as often as you want to. You’ll be getting sweaty enough.” Baz pressed a towel into Matt’s hands. “Towels are on the other side. Same rule.” He waltzed out the room and Foggy and Matt obediently followed. “You two are like ducks following mum now.” He made a shooing motion. “So swim, my little ducklings.” Foggy and Matt hesitated, so Baz added “I can see you like instructions, so here you are: bathe, then eat, then come find us in the arena. The refectory is through the rec room. Follow your nose.”

Matt and Foggy wandered back into the baths. Foggy bent into Matt and murmured, “um, so what the fuck are we doing?”

“I want to say bathing, but I know that’s not what you mean.”

Foggy sighed. “It’s a pretty ace looking pool, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Foggy leaned in again. “Are you going to tell me about what he meant by acute senses?”

“Yeah… maybe not right now. We’re being watched.”

“Duh.”

“I’m really itching for a shower,” Matt moaned. “I don’t want to bathe in other people’s filth.”

“What about the filtration thingy?”

“Slightly diluted other people’s filth then,” Matt corrected.

“Let’s do it before anyone comes. Do you think we really need to take all our clothes off?”

“We could wear our boxers.”

“Good idea.”

Matt and Foggy stripped down to their boxers and left their clothes and towel in a small heap on one of the benches.

“Keep an eye on my jacket, would you?” Matt asked Foggy. “I wouldn’t put it past them to steal it while we’re in the baths.”

They made their way over to the series of small waterholes, which were connected by a shallow running stream.

“These two,” Matt said, gesturing towards two adjacent waterholes that looked deep enough to accommodate their entire body, but small enough that they needed one each.

“How do you know?” Foggy asked, a waver in his voice.

“This room is really easy to read with the tiles and the running water, and variety of built materials-”

“-and you could tell that the two pools were perfect for us because?”

“You know how I told you about echolocation?”

“Yeah. You can listen to objects.”

“I listen to soundwaves _bounce off_ objects.” He put a toe into the water, and pulled it out again quickly as the cool temperature registered. “It’s freezing!”

Foggy crouched and ran his hand through the water. “I guess it’d be unhygienic to heat it much more. Come on Matt, it’s not that cold. Don’t be a chicken.”

Matt sat down on the edge of the pool and shimmied his way in, lowering himself into the water with a sharp intake of breath. He stood there, waist deep for a bit, arms around his chest before he took a deep breath and ducked under. “Oh, that’s cold,” he said as he spat out an undesired mouthful.

Foggy followed Matt’s lead, completely submerging himself before quickly surfacing and scrabbling at the tangle of long thick hair that was now obscuring his face. “Hey, we’re swimming!” Foggy said.

“Shall we try the deep one?” Matt said in response.

“Um, no. I think I might swim where my feet touch the bottom.”

Matt climbed out of his hole and danced his way between the waterholes to the large pool.

“Hey, you were going to tell me how you do that.” Foggy called.

“I listen,” Matt yelled back. He waded down the shallow beach-like slope into the main pool, he stopped when he got to his shoulders, and experimentally lifted up his feet to see if he would float. He went under.

“Matt!” Foggy shrieked, stumbling out of the pool and hopping over to the main pool. “Fuck.”

Matt came back up for air with a gasp and Foggy shook with relief. “What were you thinking, Matt,” he scolded, gingerly walking down the slope until he was chest deep.

“I think it’s harder than they describe in books,” Matt deadpanned. Foggy grabbed Matt’s arm. “Come on, we’ve washed enough.”

As they stumbled out, Matt spoke softly into Foggy’s ear, “I can hear your whispers from across the room.” Foggy looked at Matt who was pretending he didn’t say anything. Foggy guessed that he didn’t want to be overheard. As they dried their hair on the towels, Matt whispered, “I can feel and hear vibrations from electrical equipment and circuit boards. I can sense the minute changes in heat. I can feel and hear the displaced air from an object being thrown across the room.” Foggy thought back to the jacket Matt caught earlier. “I can hear your heartbeat.”

Foggy jerked away. “What?”

“Heart. Beat.” Matt huffed into his towel.

“That’s creepy and invasive and- ergh.”

“Shhhh.”

“What?”

“The filtration system is not as described.”

“Huh?”

“The pool. When I put my head under-”

“That was deliberate?”

“Of course. I heard something - it’s hard to explain.”

“Please say it’s a warp-zone to America.”

Matt hummed a little, distracted.

“Matt?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re a little bit fucked aren’t we.”

“A little bit, yeah.”

 

* * *

 

They pulled on the new clothes. While the fabric was soft against the skin, Foggy could feel the uncomfortable pull of seams in all the wrong places. He suspected they were made for a different body type. Matt zipped the back of his suit up and Foggy whistled. “Man, only you could make a skin-tight beige onesie work.” Matt’s mouth gave a twitch of - what was it – pride? The suit seemed to accentuate Matt’s muscles, and Foggy hunched a little in embarrassment when he looked down at his stomach that was distinctly lacking in muscles.

“Do you think we’ll get our shoes back?” Foggy wondered as they walked back to their (new) dorms.

“I suspect not.”

They dumped their clothes on their respective bedside tables, and Matt discretely tucked his father’s jacket under the bedsprings - just in case. Foggy wandered around the other beds, looking at the small string animals and origami sculptures the other performers?/inmates?/captives? had proudly displayed on their tables.

“Why are we being left to roam around free like this?” Foggy thought out loud.

Matt quickly pointed out, “it’s not freedom. Not really. They give us a relative freedom to keep us sated.”

“So what now?”

“I can smell food,” Matt said. “Come on, I just heard your stomach growl.”

“You could hear that?”

Matt grabbed Foggy’s hand and pulled him in the direction of the food.

They entered a large room that looked like a combination of an art studio, gymnasium and children’s playground. Like the baths, there was a web of climbable ropes stretching up into the ceiling, with various levels of netting. Some of them were stretched with fabric so that they formed small tents or pods. Foggy looked around, trying to work out why anyone would want to scale such a terrifying-looking structure. Matt walked over to one of the ladder-like ropes, and tugged on it softly.

“What are you doing?” Foggy asked, as Matt scaled the ladder, then half-climbed, half-swung his way up to one of the mid-level nets. “Get down,” Foggy hissed. “You’ll fall.”

“No I won’t,” Matt said, a little smug. “But I’ll get down if only because I’m hungry.”

Foggy let out a gasp as Matt jumped off the net, deftly catching the rope a metre underneath, and then dropping back down to the ladder.

“How did you know-”

“I told you. My senses.”

“Yeah, but surely you can’t hear the ropes.”

Matt shrugged. “It’s complicated.” He grabbed Foggy’s elbow, just as usually did to be guided. “Forward ho!” Matt said.

“You’re acting weird,” Foggy said uncomfortably.

“I think it’s the climbing endorphins,” Matt said honestly. There was also the new sense of freedom though – he didn’t need to hide his abilities from Foggy anymore. He could be himself finally.

They entered a room filled with dining tables. “I think this is the ref,” Foggy whispered. He looked around and realised with a shock that there was a lone figure in the corner, unhappily poking at his food. Matt cocked his head ever so slightly – a tendency that Foggy recognised well, and now made a bit more sense. He was listening to this person, who to Foggy’s ears was barely moving, let alone making sounds.

The young man looked at Matt and Foggy with interest, but didn’t say anything, so Foggy waved a little and said “hi!” The guy looked a bit perturbed by this gesture of friendliness and went back to picking at his food.

“Where is everyone?” Foggy whispered. “There were dozens of beds, and we arrived with three others.”

“Did we all arrive?” Matt said pointedly.

“Yeah you saw them on the bus… ohhh” Foggy cottoned on to what Matt was saying. “They seemed pretty genuine about not harming us. Well, you at least.”

“There is nothing rational about this, Foggy. Nor kind.” He tilted his head again, and Foggy looked critically at Matt’s expression, trying to interpret this new version of his friend.

“What?”

“They’re all through there,” Matt whispered, pointing at the wall.

“There’s no door.”

“There will be. Somewhere.”

“Can we please eat first?” Foggy moaned.

Matt nodded once, then said, “if you can find the food. I can’t figure out where it is.”

“You can’t? What about your senses thing? I mean, even I can smell the food.”

“I have my limitations, Foggy. But I can’t figure out where we get it.”

Foggy turned around and looked at the guy in the corner, who ducked his head when Foggy met his gaze.

There was a small vestibule ahead of them. “Maybe, here?” Matt said, dragging Foggy towards it.

Set into the side of the vestibule was a large touch pad with raised buttons onto which small pictures of food items were printed. Foggy laughed. “This is like that show – what was it? The space ship has a food vending machine. Hey, this one even has Braille labels.” Foggy touched Matt’s hand and led it to the icons. Matt brushed his hand over the surface, reading the items. “I assumed we’d be given a piece of bread and some gruel,” Foggy said, an edge of hysteria in his voice.

“Hey,” Matt said, rubbing Foggy’s back. “Calm. We’ll get through this.”

“Really, Matt? This place is as sophisticated as all fuck. They have so many resources at their disposal. You think you’re just going to break out of here?”

Matt didn’t say anything. He brushed his hand over the machine again, and pressed a series of buttons (chicken, broccoli, potato, spinach), then he hovered over the drinks, hesitating a little, before pressing the button for water. They waited for something to happen.

“Hang on, I’ll press the green button.”

“Show me?” Matt said in a small voice. Foggy led his hand to the button, and Matt read it: “go.”

“Should we try again?” Foggy whispered, impatient.

“There’s something happening,” Matt whispered back. “Just wait.”

They stood there for another minute before Foggy said, “I might do mine.”

He wavered a little before choosing the same combo as Matt, but with gravy.

“It seems pretty damn lush for a prison,” Foggy said.

“Relative freedom, Foggy. Remember that. And I’m withholding judgement about the food until I taste it. Who knows what will come out.”

The stainless steel wall next to the machine opened up and Foggy cautiously reached in and handed Matt the tray that was within. Matt sniffed it.

“Detect any poison?” Foggy half-joked. He wouldn’t put it past them.

“No, it smells great actually.”

“Looks bland.”

Matt shrugged. “It’ll allow me to taste the source better. I have no idea how they get fresh food to the centre of the desert.”

“Well they have a plane.”

The hatch opened again, and Foggy grabbed his tray. While they were engrossed in the machine, the guy in the corner had quietly slipped out, leaving them all alone once more. They wandered over to the nearest table, and Matt sat close to Foggy’s side, instead of across the table as they usually did at college. Foggy looked at Matt, confused, but didn’t comment. Instead, he picked up the receipt sitting beneath the cutlery. “Franklin Nelson,” he read. “Shit, they have the calories in this meal, my weight, my fat percentage… how?” He looked at Matt as if his super senses held all the answers, but Matt shrugged unhappily. “It’s like big brother,” Foggy muttered. “Next we’ll be banned from using anything other than Newspeak.”

Matt ran his hand over his receipt that was printed in Braille. Braille printers were expensive and uncommon. Printers that didn’t make an absolute din were even more so. This place really was oozing wealth. “Matthew Murdock; Calories: 332; protein: 41g; carbohydrates: 33g … I’m pretty sure people would give their eye’s teeth for something like this at college.”

“Don’t talk about college please,” Foggy said.

Matt took a bite of his chicken and somehow managed to whisper though the bites. “College recommences mid-August. We have three months. Go along with it. Pretend to comply while we figure something out. I’ve spent the last two hours listening. You need to start doing that too.”

“Oh,” Foggy said, finally understanding Matt’s surprisingly placid and compliant demeanour. “Okay.”

“Shhh…” Matt hissed ever so quietly. He picked up a piece of broccoli and under the cover of chewing, muttered, “remember I can hear you whisper across the room. You barely have to make a sound and I can hear it.”

Foggy ever slightly mouthed, “okay.”

“Good.” Matt put down his knife and fork and said in a normal voice, “it seems to be organic. I can’t taste any pesticides.”

“The gravy’s fucking awesome,” Foggy added. “This is too good to be true.”

“Comfort in captivity. Aimed at making us happy to perform like caged animals – if that’s indeed the game. Are you ready to find out?”

They wandered back into the playground-like rec room, and Matt brushed his hands along one wall, stopping when he got to a small white button next to a massive mirror embedded in the wall. “Here,” Matt said.

“A light switch?”

“The door. I can feel the electric current.”

He pressed it, and before Foggy could comment on Matt’s inexplicable ability to feel electric currents through walls, the mirror slid open, revealing a massive circular room and dozens of identically-dressed people staring at the two new recruits, many of them perched on the circus equipment that was strung up to giddy heights.

“You made it!” Baz boomed. “Welcome to the Earth Arena – the most prestigious performing arts venue on the planet!”

 


	4. Can you do this?

Matt and Foggy stood frozen and overwhelmed at the edge of the massive arena. Baz walked over and put his hand on Matt’s back, whispering, “this is your time to shine, Matty. You don’t need to hold back anymore.” Matt tried not to flinch at the touch. He knew Baz was a dangerous man and was still deciding how he should play this game.

Baz ruffled Matt’s hair and announced a parody of a broad American accent, “everyone, this is Matt and Foggy from New York City.”

A tall slender boy jumped down from one of the platforms, landing with extraordinary grace. Ignoring Foggy, he held his hand out to Matt. “I’m Sam.” Matt ignored the hand as per usual, even though in reality he could 'see' it in his own special way. “What, are you blind?” he said with a laugh, looking back at the rest of the group, who obediently joined in.

Matt held his head high, and said “yes” in an imperious voice.

“Oh,” Sam said, dropping his hand.

“Don’t be fooled, Sambo,” Baz chuckled. “He knows what he’s doing. You should watch out.”

Matt detected a slight jump of anxiety in Sam’s heartbeat. Sam knew nothing about Matt, but he still seemed slightly threatened by Baz’s new blind recruit. He’d already deduced that Sam was at the top of the social hierarchy in this room, but Sam’s reaction suggested it was wobbly at the top.

Sam turned to Foggy, looked him up and down silently then walked back to the group. Evidently, Foggy was assessed as not a threat.

Breaking the silence, a young woman stood up from the floor and said, “can you do this?” She took a run up and performed an extraordinary series of flips and tumbles before landing in a graceful pose, arms in the air. Almost immediately, another woman piped up, “can you do this?” and followed her fellow performer in a series of textbook cartwheels ending in a double somersault. “Can you do this?” a boy yelled out, somersaulting off one of the lower platforms onto the floor. Another couple unhooked the trapeze and performed a death-defying series of mid-air acrobatics.

Foggy’s fear of heights was such that he couldn’t even look up at the performers perched on the top platforms. Instead, he looked around the group sitting and standing on the floor. Elektra, Yasmin and Clint were hanging by the back. Yasmin was nervously picking at her jumpsuit, while Elektra looked like she absolutely owned it, despite the livid expression on her face.

Foggy remembered that Baz had said Stick had trained both Matt and Elektra. Trained them in what? He still hadn’t asked Matt about that – he was too busy learning about Matt’s senses. Stick’s two students didn’t seem to acknowledge each other on the bus, which suggested that perhaps they didn’t know each other. Matt would surely tell him – or maybe not. Matt hadn’t told him about his senses; in fact, he knew almost nothing about his best friend. He had no idea who Matt was. Not really.

It didn’t help that at that point Matt interrupted the ‘can you do this’ display by breaking into a run and performing his own series of flips and spins. Sam clapped, and called “not bad for a newbie,” from his platform, and Matt flashed one of his stellar smiles. The room seemed to relax a little. That is, it relaxed everyone but Foggy, who was now staring at Matt in open-mouthed astonishment.

One of the floor-based performers walked over and grabbed Matt’s hand. She quizzed him briefly about his evident acrobatic skills then asked him to somersault over his hand, which he did. “Can you jump through this?” she teased, forming a circle with her two hands. Matt dove through the circle, landing on his hands and rolling into a somersault. “Easy,” he grinned.

Baz wandered over to the group with the brightly coloured balls, completely ignoring Foggy. Not knowing what to do with himself, Foggy slunk over to where Matt was performing ever more demanding feats. He watched silently for a while, picking at his fingers anxiously, a little hurt (and a little bit scared) that Matt was ignoring him. Matt and the female performer worked well together, wordlessly tumbling and jumping over each other in near perfect harmony. She was a little shorter than Matt, and her strawberry blond hair was a little lighter than his orange mop. She’s probably Matt’s soul mate, Foggy thought miserably. Foggy was about to give up on Matt and wander over to the ball performers (where he could hide amongst the baskets of gym equipment), when Matt stopped and apologised to Foggy for abandoning him.

“It’s okay, really,” Foggy stammered. “You seem to enjoy this stuff.” He added under his breath, “whatever it is.”

“Foggy, this is Julia. Julia, Foggy.” Matt was back in his super polite mode. Foggy gave her a shy wave and a “hi”, and Julia returned it with a nod. Foggy stared at her, a little unnerved. She had the same slightly glazed look her eyes as Matt, and seemed to be looking at his mouth rather than his eyes. “Are you-”

“Blind?” Julia finished. “Yes.”

“Is everyone here blind?”

“No, just me,” she said unfazed. “Well, and now Matt.” Matt nodded his head, clearly happy about his newfound friend.

“What can you do?” Julia asked Foggy, completely genuine.

“Um, I can give you a rundown on the American legal system.”

Matt laughed.

“I mean, why are you here? What’s your specialty?”

“I’m friends with Matt.”

Julia looked confused, so Matt interrupted. “Foggy accompanied me on the bus to the Marshall Museum - well, what we thought was the bus to the Marshall Museum, and we ended up here.”

“Marshall Museum?”

“Yeah, did you get a letter about it too?”

“Oh, no. It’s different for everyone I think. Mine’s a bit embarrassing.”

“What is it?”

“Disneyland.”

“Why is that embarrassing?” Matt said kindly.

Julia shrugged. “I grew up in LA, and everyone who grows up in LA seems to go Disneyland at least once when they’re kids. But my- um, I didn’t. So when I got this letter I guess I just jumped at the chance and didn’t really question its authenticity. I should have seen it, but I was too distracted by trivial things. Stupid, I know.”

“Well, we’re here for the same reason. I wish I’d checked too,” Matt said.

Julia said so softly that only Matt could hear, “I saw _you_ coming.”

“What?” Matt said, equally as soft.

“Yesterday. I saw you - in my mind.”

Matt didn’t externally respond. He didn’t ask her how she knew or the extent of her hearing (perhaps as good as her own), but his thoughts were churning over and over. His entire worldview had been turned on its head in one day. Yesterday, he would have scoffed at the notion of precognition, but now... what other impossibilities were possible?

Finally he said, “do they know – y’know, that you know-”

“No. I haven’t told anyone.”

“Why me then?”

Julia ignored the question.

Meanwhile, Foggy was wondering if anyone would eventually join the dots between these mysterious letters and the disappearance of at least thirty young people. His own parents probably wouldn’t even realise until they were due back for college given that they’d yelled at each other before he’d left, not to mention his reputation for never picking up the phone. Foggy eventually asked, “did you tell anyone about the letter – tell them you were going to Disneyland?”

“No, there was no one to tell. I don’t have any family – my mum died when I was young, and my dad – well, that’s complicated.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Foggy said quickly. He could hardly believe it. She really did seem like the female equivalent of Matt in both appearance and circumstances.

“Everyone here grew up an orphan, haven’t they,” Matt said. It wasn’t a question. He knew.

“Yeah, pretty much. All Galaxia have similar circumstances at least. Who told you?”

“Galaxia?”

“Yeah, all of us-”

Matt suddenly interrupted, “hey Foggy, lie down on the ground.”

“Why?” But Foggy didn’t need the answer. He saw Baz striding over. Matt quickly somersaulted over Foggy as if he was some kind of hurdle.

“You’re not distracting my superstar Galaxia, are you, Fogster?” He boomed.

“He’s helping,” Matt said lamely.

Baz snorted. “Make sure you don’t pull a muscle down there, mate.” He didn’t pursue the matter any further though and went back to directing some of the trapeze artists.

Foggy sat up. “Really?” he said, humiliated. “That’s the best you can do, Murdock? Turn me into a human hurdle?”

Matt looked a little hurt, and Julia used the opportunity to slip away and join a small group practicing human pyramids in the corner. “Sorry. I just didn’t know. I panicked. Can you – can you do any of this, um, stuff?”

“Am I professional acrobat, gymnast or circus performer? I think you know the answer to that one.”

Matt didn’t respond so Foggy added, “the answer is no, I can’t. I have absolutely no physical prowess or special powers or whatever you call your magic senses.”

“Well, I’ll teach you.” Matt put his hand out for Foggy to hoist himself up.

“Like Stick taught you?”

“No. Definitely not Stick’s method,” Matt said, remembering the beatings and verbal abuse he suffered under Stick’s tutelage. “Now tell me what you can do. How are your handstands?”

“Non-existent.”

“Oh.”

“Can you somersault?”

“Dunno. Never tried it. Never needed to.” Foggy could tell Matt was unnerved by this information.

“What about somersaulting on the ground?”

“No, I already told you, I can’t – hang on what did you mean by somersault before?”

“In the air. Like this.” Matt jumped up and did a neat somersault mid-air.

“No, Matt,” Foggy said through clenched teeth. “I can’t do Olympic-level acrobatics.”

“But you can do somersaults on the ground, right?”

“ _I. Can’t. Somersault_ ,” Foggy spat. “You told me to listen; maybe you should take your own advice.”

Matt looked a bit hurt, but he persisted anyway. “Okay. We’ll start with ground somersaults then. Squat down.”

“Matt, I can’t. Seriously, I don’t know if you can sense what I’m seeing, but these people are extraordinary. And so are you apparently. I had no idea you could do any of that shit. It’s just not within my capabilities.”

Matt leaned over and hissed, “you need to try Foggy. I’ll tell you why later. Just go along with it.”

“Fine,” Foggy said bitterly, but squatting as Matt had instructed.

“Okay, now put your head on the ground… no not like that… here I’ll show you.” Matt got down next to Foggy and put his head on the ground. “Now you just push yourself forward and hey presto.” Matt flipped over and rolled back onto his toes before gracefully standing again. “You try.”

Foggy snorted. “Okay.” He put the crown of his head on the floor then pushed off, ending on his back like an upturned turtle.

“There you go,” Matt said encouragingly.

Foggy glared at Matt. “That was shit and you know it.”

“Do it again.”

Foggy glared again, but complied, ending up on his back with his legs splayed.

“Good. This time, keep your legs together.”

“I’m trying,” Foggy said through clenched teeth. He managed to roll up to a seated position after the sixth try. But there was no way he could possibly get back onto his feet from a floor somersault.

“My stomach hurts,” Foggy groaned.

“The gravy?” Matt said concerned.

“No, my muscles. I didn’t know I had muscles there.”

“You need to strengthen your core. We can do some sit ups together.”

“This is punishment for never joining you at the campus gym, isn’t it,” Foggy muttered.

A small group of Galaxia had gathered nearby and were giggling at Matt and Foggy’s ‘lesson.’

“What’s he even doing here?” one of them whispered as Foggy ended up on his back once again.

“Mistaken identity,” another suggested.

“Julia said he wanted to get on the bus with his friend.”

“That explains it.”

“Are they together?”

“I hope not. The blind one’s super cute.” [Cue giggling].

“The other guy doesn’t even fit into his clothes.”

“I want to see his printout.”

They were far away that Foggy couldn’t hear them, but Matt could. He clenched in anger. The situation was bad enough without peer-bullying.

Slowly, the Galaxia started leaving the arena. Foggy looked over at Clint, Elektra and Yasmin who were still gathered in a group. Elektra was standing slightly apart as if trying to demonstrate her independence from anyone and everyone, yet she still looked uncomfortable. Foggy saw Clint ask one of the other Galaxia something, who pointed up at the large multi-coloured strip along the wall. There was a silver glittery line in on the mid-left hand side, sitting in a section where it faded black to yellow. Clint nodded then gestured to the other two, the three of them leaving the arena.

“Matt?” Foggy said quietly. Matt was standing there, head slightly cocked. He didn’t respond so Foggy touched him lightly on the arm. He didn’t seem surprised. Instead, he grabbed Foggy’s arm and said, “come on, let’s go.”

As they left the arena, Matt picked up the sounds of people splashing in the baths. A few more were chatting in the playground-like room or the dining area. They’d already had a bath that day, but Matt had worked up a sweat in the arena, and was tempted to join the others. “Pool?” he whispered to Foggy.

“No way. Not with everyone else.”

“You’re probably going to have to at some point.”

Foggy squirmed at the thought.

“If it helps, I can’t see you,” Matt said with a slight smirk.

“Actually, I’d quite like clarification on that point,” said Foggy matter-of-factly. “I’ve got naked plenty of times over the last year in my dorms banking on the fact that you couldn’t see me. But now that I know about your senses-”

“I can’t see nakedness, Foggy. In fact, with this clothing, people might as well be naked. It’s actually a lot easier to read people’s gestures. It’s good.”

“So everyone here is naked to you?”

Matt shrugged. “Not exactly. But nakedness doesn’t faze me. Don’t forget I didn’t exactly grow up in an environment where there was much privacy.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Foggy followed Matt into the baths, not wanting to be alone. He noticed another coloured strip along one wall. The silver line seemed to have advanced ever so slightly, suggesting that it was some kind of unique clock.

Foggy gazed around the room. The other three new recruits were standing on the edge with slightly horrified expressions. They’d had baths on arrival, but like Matt, they were already quite sweaty through exertion. Baz might have told them it was okay to keep their clothes on, but it didn’t seem to be the status quo and Foggy suspected he’d be laughed at if he kept them on. As a group, the Galaxia had evidently created a unique set of social rules.

Matt was already shedding his clothes, tossing his bodysuit into a chute in the wall. Elektra soon followed, and Foggy watched the two of them critically to see if there was some recognition between the two. Elektra followed close on Matt’s tail, and Matt seemed to move faster in response, diving into the large pool at first opportunity.

“No!” Foggy gasped, knowing Matt couldn’t swim.

Matt soon bobbed up to the surface with a gasp, and tried to doggy paddle his way to an edge. Julia swam to his side, and pushed him slightly in the right direction. When he reached the edge, Matt clung on to the fake rock a little shaken up at his inability to instantly swim. “It’s in my ears,” he moaned to Julia. “How do you do it?”

“Shake it out.” She tilted his head, and he tried to shake the water from his ears, panicking a little at the disorienting affect of waterlogged ears.

Foggy felt slightly guilty at his relief that at least there was one thing Matt wasn’t good at. They could learn together… if only he could get over his self-consciousness.

Matt decided he’d had enough for one day, and stumbled out of the pool, still a little wobbly. Foggy grabbed his towel, and shoved it in his hands, and Matt almost cried with relief. “Foggy… the water… it goes everywhere.”

When they went to get replacement clothing (Foggy decided he would only change in the toilets), Foggy noticed a new label on one of the far boxes. “Matt, it looks like you have your own box.” Foggy led Matt’s hand over to the label that was printed in both ink and Braille. “Looks like Julia has one too,” Foggy noted, looking at the label on the adjacent box. “That’s thoughtful.”

Matt scowled. “Thoughtful would be not locking us up.”

“Good point,” Foggy sighed.

Matt climbed into the fresh jumpsuit. It was softer than the previous one, as if it was made especially for him. Foggy headed in the direction of the dorms to change, and Elektra used the opportunity to pounce on Matt. His ears were still a little waterlogged and he didn’t notice her approach until it was too late.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Elektra said in lieu of a proper greeting.

“I don’t even know you,” Matt said curtly.

“Stick.”

“What about him?”

“You know him – you were trained by him,” she said in a warning tone.

“So were you from what I hear.”

She sighed. “Matthew-”

“Matt.”

“Okay, Matt,” she said, overemphasising the ‘t’. “We’ve been kidnapped, dragged to this…” she tied to come up with a word that could possibly describe the situation, but failed. “It can’t be a coincidence that we were both Stick’s protégés-”

“It isn’t.”

“So you _do_ know something.”

“Just what they said this morning. Apparently, they’ve been researching Stick’s students. Who knows how many there are or if any of them are already here…” he petered off, overwhelmed by all this information.

“I don’t want to fight you. We both know how Stick’s methods.”

Matt scowled.

She moved a little closer and put her hand on his chest. Adopting a more sanguine tone, she said “I would have thought you’d be pleased to meet a fellow protégé.”

“I… am – I think – I don’t know – this is all very confusing,” Matt stuttered, his façade of confidence finally slipping.

He heard her voice say, “I have questions. But not now. Later. When we’re not being watched.” But Elektra’s words were not spoken. He didn’t hear them audibly. They were in his head.

“H-how?” he spluttered.

“Bye, _Matthew_ ,” she said out loud, giving him a pat on his chest before wandering away.

Matt stood there for a good couple of minutes until Foggy returned from the toilet (AKA his change room). “Matt, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He gently touched his hand. “Hang on, can you see ghosts if you’re blind?”

Matt snorted, his confusion broken by Foggy’s absurd question. “Ghosts don’t exist, Foggy.”

“I’m starting to think anything’s possible,” Foggy muttered.

“You and me both, pal. Um, I think I need to sit down for a bit.”

“In here,” Foggy said, guiding Matt towards the rec room, where they sat cross-legged on the soft floor. “Are you sick?”

“Actually, I feel better than I should for someone who’s been drugged at least twice in the last 24 hours, been transported to the other side of the world, and placed in what looks like eternal captivity.”

“Eternal…” Foggy whispered. “There aren’t many middle aged performers here.”

“Three months, Foggy. Three months,” Matt whispered back.

One of the younger Galaxia wandered up and sat in front of them. “Hello,” she said.

“Hi,” Foggy said nervously.

Another two appeared, and then four, until about twelve Galaxia – including Julia - were seated around Matt and Foggy, eyes glued on them. “Where are you from?” one of them asked.

“New York,” Foggy said.

“But where in New York?”

Another added, “Times Square?”

Foggy shook his head. “No, Hell’s Kitchen.”

A collective “oooh…” went through the group.

“So you’re like devils or something?” a small Chinese woman asked.

“Heh, no.”

“What can you do?” one of them said with a strong Scottish accent. Foggy recalled Julia asking him the same question, and this time knew that it didn’t mean anything that actually applied to his skill set. He stayed silent.

Matt could hear Foggy’s breath hitch, so he said, “I can fight. Um, I guess it’s a kind of martial art.”

“What?!” Foggy said, ever so quietly. Julia laughed, betraying to Foggy that her hearing was as good as Matt’s.

“What kind?” The group was intrigued.

“I – I don’t really know the name for it.” Matt said. He just copied Stick. Did it have a name?

“There was no name,” Elektra interrupted as she wandered towards the group. “It’s the best of everything.”

“You’re from New York too,” someone said, remembering Baz’s earlier introduction.

“Greece,” Elektra corrected. “I just live in America.”

“Australia now,” one of them said bluntly.

“Can you fight too?” the Scottish guy asked.

“Better than him,” she said, pointing at Matt.

Matt snorted at the obvious provocation.

“It’s not a joke,” she said quietly. There was a dangerous edge to her voice, and Matt felt a paradoxical flash of attraction towards this woman.

Most of the Galaxia were looking at Matt then Elektra then back again, trying to decipher the bizarre exchange.

Foggy cleared his throat, “um, so where are you all from?”

“What can you do?” one of them quickly countered.

Foggy panicked. What did Baz say earlier? “I can sew,” he blurted out.

“Like costumes?”

“Er, yeah.”

“Maybe _that’s_ why you’re here.”

“Am I?” Foggy said, relieved but completely dumbfounded by the reaction.

“Can you do anything else?”

“Not really.” Foggy’s greatest physical feat to date was winning the ‘Fluffy Bunny’ contest at school camp, setting an all-time record of twelve marshmallows in his mouth at once. He didn’t think that would count as an achievement here.

“Can you sew me a costume?” someone called out.

“Um, sure.”

“And me?”

“Yeah.” Foggy didn’t know how or why or when this costume-making would occur, but agreeing seemed to sate their audience.

“There you go,” Matt said, smiling, as the Galaxia scattered, now apparently bored with the newcomers. “You’re the costume man.”

“For what?” Foggy said, utterly confused.

“For the performances,” Matt said as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

“I can’t even-” Foggy stopped when he saw Matt’s face. “What is it?”

“Food,” he said, pulling Foggy towards the refectory.

“Really Matt? You barely ate at college. I didn’t even think you _liked_ food.”

“But this is good food. I’m starving.”

“Maybe they did douse it with something,” Foggy muttered. But Matt wasn’t lying. He’d thoroughly enjoyed the earlier Arena meal. The texture was a bit mushy because it was cooked from frozen, but unlike the hyper-processed crap they served in the college cafeterias (not to mention the dismal offerings at the orphanage), it was completely organic and preservative free. If he was going to pretend to assimilate, he was at least going to enjoy the food.

Foggy ordered a plate of vegetables for dinner, hunching self-consciously as he carried his tray to the table. He was very aware that everyone in the room was buff and/or incredibly slender… apart from him.

“You know you should eat some protein if you’re going to be exercising every day,” Matt said bluntly. “Particularly if you want to build muscles.”

Foggy scowled. “How much do you weigh, Matt?”

Matt brushed his fingers over his Braille receipt. “200 pounds.”

“Oh. That’s the same as me.”

Matt didn’t know what to say. He knew Foggy was conscious about his weight, and that his parents occasionally commented on his weight, which always sent him into a rage and a subsequent splurge on chocolate. But to Matt, he didn’t seem particularly rotund – just unfit and a bit squishy. There was no doubt that the Galaxia were at the extreme end of fit due to circumstances beyond their control, yet Foggy was still comparing himself to them.

Matt took a deep breath, and whispered, “do not hurt yourself for these people. A bit of training to develop your stomach muscles is not going to hurt you, but starving yourself will. I will _not_ let you hurt yourself for these criminals.”

Foggy stopped, taken aback at the barely hidden rage in Matt’s voice. He felt a little foolish that he’d been so quick to conform to the new set of social norms without question, simply because he was already so anxious about how others saw his body.

They ate in silence for a bit, then Foggy whispered softly for Matt’s ears only, “what I don’t get is that everyone here is orphans but me – I guess the theory being no one will miss an orphan if they go missing. I wasn’t invited of course – I came along because you wouldn’t go without me. _But_ they must have known I would alert the authorities if you went missing.”

Matt shovelled a bean into his mouth, and chewing with his mouth open, whispered, “if they knew about the roadtrip, sure. But do you really think they were spying on us?”

“I wouldn’t put it past them. So am I really here by error or was it planned all along? I mean, they knew you were blind and yet they sent you a letter written in ink instead of Braille. They might have known I would read it to you and know about the museum opening.”

“But they probably also assumed that with my senses I could read regular printed ink.”

“Can you?”

“Yes.”

“What?!” Foggy said, a little too loudly so that Matt kicked him under the table.

“Sorry,” Foggy whispered, lowering his voice again. “So I’ve been reading stuff for you all this time and I didn’t need to?”

“What can I say? I like the sound of your voice.”

Foggy blushed. Matt smirked a little at the effect it had on Foggy. He’d be using that line again.

“I _can_ read printed text though touch, but it’s incredibly slow and difficult. I honestly appreciate you reading to me.”

“You said that you’d tell me about Stick.” Foggy knew he was pushing his luck, that Matt’s ‘later’ was unlikely to mean now.

Matt returned to a normal speaking voice. Ignoring Foggy’s request, he said, “so here’s what I’ve gathered so far.”

Matt explained to Foggy that their activities were regulated by a timetable, which comprised daily training and a performance at the end of the ‘week’. “But I’m not sure if a week here is the same as a normal week,” Matt noted.

“That must be the coloured strips in all the rooms,” Foggy said.

“Strips?” Matt asked, surprised.

“Yeah, there’s a line that moves through the coloured blocks, but it’s too long to be a day.” He looked up at the strip in the cafeteria. “When we were in the arena the line was in the black area, then it moved through yellow and now it’s at green. I guess green means food. Weird.”

“You might have to help me out with the timetable then if I can’t see it. I wonder how Julia copes,” he said, listening out for his new friend.

Matt continued recounting his observations. “There’s a lot of effort invested in the costumes, which are decorated by the Galaxia – and that’s where you might shine, buddy.” Matt smiled at Foggy. “Apparently there’s an area in the rec room where the costume making occurs. Selections for the week’s performances take place mid-week, and it’s a big deal. Those selected to perform are given a treat afterwards. There seems to be a social structure within the group in which those who perform the more dangerous tricks are higher up in the social structure. They’re also (not surprisingly) Baz’s favourites.” Matt was genuinely surprised that the Galaxia wanted to be Baz’s favourites. From what he’d gathered so far, they all craved his attention and praise.

“Basically, those who stick to the ‘safe’ floor routines are looked down upon (both literally and figuratively). They’re called ‘Earthlings’ by the group. The lower level aerial performers are called ‘Satellites’, and the upper level performers are ‘Solars’.

Foggy snorted at the names. “They take the space themes pretty seriously,” he sneered.

“They’re somewhat poetic,” Matt said, listening to Foggy unhappily chewing a too-soft broccoli stalk. “Here,” he said, stabbing a large portion of his fish and transferring it to Foggy’s plate. “Protein. Eat it.”

“You need it more than me.”

“I’m full,” Matt lied.

Foggy shrugged and poked at the white fish. “Fish in the desert. Is that wise?”

“It’s all frozen anyway.”

“You can tell that?”

“Come on Foggy, you must be able to tell from the texture. It’s pretty mushy.”

“I feel like I don’t observe nearly as much as I should.”

Matt nodded. “Start now.”

Baz chose that moment to stride into the cafeteria. “How’s my superstar and his bestie settling in, ay?”, he said loudly, placing a hand each on Matt and Foggy’s shoulders. “Sharing food I see.” They both braced for punishment, but he just ruffled their hair and walked out the door, calling out and winking to a few of his favourites as he went, causing a couple of them to blush and smile.

“Ergh. I think I’ve just been put off my food,” Foggy muttered.

They were joined at the table by Clint and Yasmin, who saw the two friends as allies in this strange new environment. Clint barely said anything as he shovelled food into his mouth. Foggy opened his mouth to say something about their new situation, but couldn’t think of the words to match such an extraordinary circumstance.

“Good food,” Clint said, looking at Yasmin’s barely touched plate. “Are you going to eat that?” he asked, and Yasmin shook her head, offering him her plate. He polished Yasmin’s food off, then sat back, rubbing his belly. “Fuck, I haven’t had such a good meal in yonks.” Matt broke the awkwardness when he said, “me too.”

“Apart from the whole captivity thing, this place is pretty neat huh.”

“You’re kidding me,” Foggy said. “You’re not saying that you’re happy about all this.”

“No, of course not. But it’s a roof over our heads innit. Didn’t have one of those before.”

Foggy screwed up his face, but Matt kicked him before Foggy could speak.

“You were homeless?” Matt said kindly.

“Yep. Been living on the streets since I ran away from the circus.”

“Another circus?”

“Yep. Bit different to this one. I don’t think they want an archer here.”

“As in bow and arrow?” Yasmin asked.

“The very one,” Clint said smiling.

“What about you, Yasmin?” Matt asked.

“I met Clint at a shelter a few years ago. We were street performers for a time,” She shrugged, as if there was nothing much else to tell. Matt decided not to probe further.

“What about you?” Clint asked. “You have some mad skills.”

“I learned to fight as a kid.”

“That’s nuts. Who taught you?”

“This old man named Stick. Found me in the orphanage.”

“But you’re at college.”

“Yeah, I guess I’m one of the lucky ones,” Matt said truthfully. He knew very few of his fellow orphans escaped the cycle of poverty once they turned 18.

Clint looked at Foggy expectantly. “You?”

“Oh, um, I grew up in a normal family. Parents, sister, dog, et cetera. No old men or circuses for me, I’m afraid.” Foggy felt a bit guilty recounting his privileged childhood.

“They must be missing you,” Clint said.

“Oh, I – we kinda had a fight last night, or whenever the bus thing happened. I don’t think they’ll notice I’m gone for awhile.”

“That’s a shame. I wish I had a family.”

Foggy’s cheeks blushed red. As if he wasn’t full of regret already, and now Clint has to remind him-

“Do you know what this place is?” Matt asked, changing the topic quickly.

“No more than what we’ve been told.”

The four of them sat in awkward silence for a while, then Matt said in a formal tone, “well it was nice meeting you, even if the circumstances aren’t ideal,” and made a hasty escape.

“You were freaking out too,” Foggy muttered as they walked away.

Matt was roiling. “It’s just too strange. They seemed so, well, accepting of this – almost grateful. Just because they get fed and watered. Our society is so fucked up.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should note that this is in no way a judgement on people with, er, very little co-ordination. I would totally be Foggy in the arena. My friend once tried to teach me how to do a handstand and I ended up breaking a bone.


	5. We are not individuals

As they wandered out of the refectory, Foggy held out the crook of his arm to Matt out of habit. “FYI, the clock is fading back into yellow, so I guess-”

“We hang out in the play room?” Matt said, taking Foggy's arm.

“It sounds like we’re kids when you call it a play room. What did Baz call it? The rec room?”

“Well, we’re pretty much treated like children,” Matt pointed out.

Foggy looked down at Matt’s hand clutching his arm. “Even now with your senses revealed, um, do you still want to be led?”

“If you don’t mind. It’s not just a façade. I kind of like it. Plus it takes a lot of concentration to pick up everything. This allows me to relax - in a way.”

“Oh. Here I was thinking you were magic or something.”

“Of course I’m not magic,” Matt said, looking awkward. “But I also – I, um, like the human contact.”

Foggy looked at him curiously. Matt’s face wasn’t showing any emotion, but Foggy could tell it was hard for Matt to admit that. He wasn’t really into sharing, which is probably how Foggy had remained in the dark for so long about Matt’s abilities.

Matt crooked his head slightly as if trying to read Foggy’s reaction. Foggy felt a rush of warmth and affection for his odd friend. “Thanks for telling me.”

Matt nodded once, satisfied that Foggy wasn’t about to run away in horror. He was desperately relieved. Today had been a day of confessions and he didn’t like it one bit. That said, he’d previously convinced himself that Foggy wouldn’t want to know him once his secret was revealed, but instead Foggy seemed strangely accepting of his unusual skills and abilities.

“Do you want to sit in one of the rope nests?” Matt said hopefully.

“I don’t think I can get up there, sorry.”

“There’s a ladder.”

“No, I mean the height. It makes me ill just looking at it.”

“Even the lowest one? It’s only four feet off the ground.”

Foggy let out a pained whine, and Matt dropped the issue.

“Do you think there any books in this place?” Foggy said looking around the room.

Matt smiled sadly. “I was kind of hoping the same thing. I think it’s even less likely that there are braille books here.”

“I wonder what happened to your Marshall book.”

“It’s probably in the same place as our phones, wallets, ID…”

“True,” Foggy said in quiet resignation, scanning the room and looking for anything that would distract Matt from wanting to climb up to the nest. “Before, you said there was a room where people made costumes?”

“I _think_ so. From what I overhead there’s a lot of craft making here.”

“ _Craft_?” Foggy raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

“What can I say – this place is weird.”

“You’re weird,” Foggy joked, poking Matt in the chest. Matt stepped back with a hurt expression on his face, and Foggy instantly regretted the comment. He quickly changed topic. “Next question: when can we go to sleep? I know I must have slept for 24 hours straight, but I’m kinda pooped.”

“I don’t have the answers to everything, Foggy.” Matt said tiredly. “But I can smell craft glue and acrylic paint… this way…” Matt pulled Foggy towards the corner of the rec room.

There was an open room tucked behind the massive vertical gym. A few of the Galaxia were kneeling around a low platform, engrossed in their work. A few of them looked up at the Foggy and Matt as they entered, but quickly turned back to their projects.

“What are you seeing?” Matt whispered to Foggy.

“You can’t tell?”

Matt screwed up his face. “I’m afraid not. I can tell people are bent over various objects, but my enhanced senses don’t replace sight.”

Foggy felt guiltily relieved at this news. He was starting to think Matt was some sort of super creature until now.

“They’re making costumes,” Foggy whispered back. “There are racks of body suits just like the ones we’re currently wearing, but in bright colours with painted patterns, jewels and feathers. They’re sewing, painting and applying decorations to bodysuits and – I _think_ – headdresses of some sort.”

Matt smiled. “I always like your descriptions, Foggy.”

Foggy blushed. At least he was doing something right. He led Matt over to a set of shelves, and touched his hand lightly. “Run your feelers over these,” Foggy said, nudging Matt’s hand towards the objects on the shelves. Matt felt in each of the open boxes of feathers, diamantes and strips of fabric. Then he hit a series of closed bottles. “Glitter,” Foggy said. “Don’t open the containers please. I remember getting my face painted with glitter as a kid and it was the most painful stuff to remove. It once got in my sister’s eye and she ended up having to go to the hospital to get it removed. It cut her eye pretty bad.”

“Duly noted.”

“These bottles are paint, and well, you can feel those,” Foggy said as Matt ran his hands over the paintbrushes. They moved onto the rolls of yarn, and more sewing equipment. “I guess it’s all hand sewing here,” Foggy observed. “I’m surprised they trust us with scissors and needles.”

“Treat the captives nice enough…” Matt muttered. “The Galaxias seem to be self organising.”

“Galaxia, not Galaxias,” a woman at the table interrupted. “We are not individuals. We are one.” She said this without judgement or emotion, not even looking up from her work. She was embroidering a delicate pattern of silver thread onto an iridescent black bodysuit.

“It sounds like you’re all pretty competitive within the group though.”

She didn’t respond.

Foggy led Matt’s hand to the next set of shelving and said, “I don’t know what paper has to do with costumes.” Matt picked up one of the small square pieces, and started folding it. Foggy stared as Matt deftly modelled it into a small crane. He held it out for Foggy. “Maybe it’s not for costumes.”

“In the dorm room… people had small origami objects and sewn animals on their bedside tables,” Foggy said, suddenly remembering. It seemed like a millennia ago that they were led around the sleeping area. How many hours ago was that?

“I wish there were windows,” Foggy said. “Do you think the clock is set to a full day?”

“It should be for optimum human performance,” Matt answered without thinking. He quickly clarified, “I learned a lot about circadian rhythms when I lost my sight.”

“Oh, of course,” Foggy said. “I don’t know how you do it.”

“You know I set an alarm every day, Foggy.”

“Sure do,” Foggy said with a wry smile, remembering all those weekend days where he wanted to do nothing but sleep-in, yet was always woken by Matt’s regular alarm. He suspected Matt knew what he really meant by ‘ _I don’t know how you do it_ ,’ but didn’t push it any further. The comment was dangerously close to the ‘ _you’re so brave_ ’ type of sentiments that Matt hated so much.

“How did you learn to do that? The origami?”

“A volunteer at the local blind foundation taught me when I first entered the orphanage. I didn’t – I was sort of – in a, um, bad way?” Matt said it with an inflection, as if turning the statement into a question could somehow lessen the impact of the vague but telling statement. “The process is very calming. She thought it would help – and it did.”

Foggy filed this information away. He knew almost nothing about Matt’s time at the orphanage, but he guessed it wouldn’t have been easy. Matt had always deflected Foggy’s questions about the orphanage part of his childhood, preferring to talk about his father - and that was only when he’d had quite a lot of alcohol.

“Bad way how?” Foggy said, pushing his luck.

Matt unsurprisingly ducked the question. “Do you want me to teach you how to make a modular piece?”

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

Matt grabbed a wad of paper and Foggy led him over to the table where they knelt down. Matt gave Foggy a piece of paper from the pile, and took one for himself. “Okay, just repeat what I’m doing,” Matt said, making a diagonal fold in the paper, and then another before squeezing one side into a flattened diamond.

“Hang on,” Foggy said, looking from Matt’s paper to his own and back to Matt’s trying to figure out how Matt got to that stage. “Slow down, Mr Wonderfingers. Tell me how you got there,” Foggy said.

Matt snorted at the nickname and partially unfolded the paper. Slowly they worked through the steps until they had a completed three dimensional object.

“I can’t believe you learned that through touch,” Foggy said in awe.

Matt handed Foggy another piece of paper. “Now we repeat the process.”

Once they had a small pile of completed parts, Matt directed Foggy to pour out some glue and they joined the parts together, resulting in a delicately folded sphere. Foggy whistled as they added the last piece. “That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever made… we’ve made.”

Matt beamed. “I know heaps more designs if you want to keep going.”

“I’ll get some more paper,” Foggy said, getting up with a groan. “Ergh, my knees really don’t like kneeling for extended periods.”

Foggy returned with another wad, and sat cross-legged this time. The friends completed another two modular sculptures until they were interrupted by a pair of very solid and confident-looking men. They stood over Matt and Foggy, watching silently. Foggy tried not to hunch in fear – something that he’d not be able to resist if it weren’t for Matt’s presence. He still needed to ask Matt what he meant by his earlier comment, ‘ _I can fight_.’

“Very nice,” one of them finally said with a thick Russian accent.

Foggy didn’t know what to say in response. Perhaps it was just the accent, but the guy’s comments sounded intentionally threatening.

“Thank you,” Matt finally said, his words crisp and polite.

“I’m Vladimir and this is my brother Anatoly.”

“I’m Foggy and-”

“We know.” Vladimir said, cutting him off.

“Yeah, of course.” Foggy muttered, blushing.

“And that’s Natasha,” Vladimir added, pointing at the girl who had corrected Matt earlier. She stopped sewing and glared at the brothers, hissing something in Russian that from her tone and facial expression was definitely not a compliment.

Vladimir smiled back at Natasha and said something in a soft, suggestive voice. The look she returned was even filthier. She returned to her sewing, relaxing her face back into the same neutral expression she’d worn earlier.

_‘We are not individuals. We are one_ ,’ she’d said. Matt was starting to see cracks in the façade. This was good. Perhaps he could use this unrest to his advantage.

“Is there a clock in here?” Matt murmured to Foggy.

“One of those coloured bar things? Yeah. It’s still on yellow.” Foggy sighed.

“Do you want to try another origami pattern?”

“Maybe I’ll give that nest a go,” Foggy said, thinking that anything was better that being in the presence of the awkward Russian trio.

Matt raised his eyebrows. “Okay,” he said hesitantly. “Are you sure?”

“No. So let’s get out of here before I change my mind.”

They stashed the origami in a corner near a couple of other paper sculptures and wandered back into the rec room. Foggy shook a little as he scaled the ladder, but Matt kept saying comforting and encouraging words as he climbed, which actually made it worth it in the end. Foggy tried not to look straight down though the net, but it was hard to avoid.

“Are you okay?” Matt said as he swung himself up from the ground.

Foggy let out a small whine in response and lay backwards into the net. At least he couldn’t look down anymore. From his new position he could see groups of Galaxia sitting in the other nests. A few were practicing aerial moves on the ropes and swings, but thankfully none were directly over Foggy and Matt’s nest.

“Were you scared of heights before you lost your sight?” Foggy asked.

Matt thought about it for a second. “Do you mean am I not scared of heights because I can’t see the ground?”

“Yeah that’s what I said.”

“No, they’re too different things. Really, I should be _more_ scared of heights now, even though I can’t see the ground. But to answer your initial question, I don’t really remember.” He frowned and thought for a moment. “I used to spend a lot of time on the fire escape of our building and I wasn’t scared then – so no, I don’t think I was.”

“Lucky bastard.”

Matt snorted.

They lay side by side in silence for what seemed to be hours. Both of them were tired, but neither of them dared sleep. Eventually Matt said, “what colour are we on? There’s a shift – a change in behaviour.”

“We’re going into blue,” Foggy said, struggling to sit up. He wobbled a little as he looked down through the net. Matt quickly grabbed him in support.

“Thanks.” There was a slight quiver in Foggy’s voice and Matt rubbed his friend’s back, trying to calm him.

“Hey, can I show you a quick way to get down?” Matt stood up and danced his way to the edge, landing confidently on the fine rope with each step.

“If you’re talking about falling, I’m pretty sure I can work that out on my own,” Foggy quipped.

Matt lay down on his stomach with his torso hanging off the edge. “Hold onto the rope edge, see?”

“Seeing,” Foggy confirmed with a tone of reluctance.

“And then you just push forward and swing your legs down. Just like the somersaults you did this afternoon.” He flipped over and landed gracefully on the ground.

Foggy thought Matt was being awfully generous in his interpretation of Foggy’s ‘somersaults.’

“Matt, you know I can’t do that.”

“Yes you can. The net is the same height as your reach, so you won’t even drop. And if you do, I’ll catch you.”

Foggy didn’t move.

“Don’t you trust me?”

Foggy still didn’t move.

Matt’s face fell.

“Oh come on, Matt. You know I can’t resist that face.”

“What face?”

“You know. That pouty one you always adopt when you really want me to do something.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Matt said far too innocently. He might not be able to see the facial expression in the mirror, but knew very well how people reacted to it.

Foggy crawled slowly over to the edge, swearing under his breath. Why did he think this was a good idea. If he could take it back, he’d take those Russian brothers over this situation for sure.

Foggy leaned over the edge. “Just so you know, my eyes are closed. So I’m doing this blind… well, not your blind. Normal blind.”

Matt snorted. Calmly, he said, “now twist your hands around so they’re like so,” gently unfurling Foggy’s hands that were already turning white from the tightness of his grip. He carefully moved them into the right position. “I’m holding you.” Matt could hear some of the Galaxia sniggering from above, and hoped that it was out of Foggy’s hearing range.

“Okay, now move your ass forward and over,” Matt instructed.

“Eyes closed, eyes closed,” Foggy whispered to himself then made the mistake of opening them. He let out a small moan as he pushed forward and flipped to his feet, nearly hitting Matt in the head (although Matt ducked out of the way quicker than Foggy could blink).

“Phew,” Foggy breathed. Matt held his shoulder, feeling the slight shake in Foggy’s limbs.

Matt looked triumphant and had a massive grin on his face. “See? You’ll be able to do all sorts of stuff soon.”

“Yeah, I’m just a few training sessions away from being the next Olympic gymnastics champion,” Foggy said sarcastically.

They followed the stream of Galaxia into the dorm. “Thank fuck,” Foggy murmured. “I don’t think I could cope with more ‘day’.”

Matt weaved his way through to his bed.

“Okay, you have to tell me how you found your bed. Fair’s fair.”

“My dad’s jacket. It’s still here,” he whispered. Foggy noted that their clothes had disappeared from their bedside tables.

“Um, Matt, I’m sorry - it’s gone.”

“I hid it under the bed springs. I can still smell him – him on it.” Foggy’s heart broke a little over Matt’s attachment to his dad’s old moth-eaten jacket. He suddenly felt homesick for his own parents. His last words to them had been “fuck the fuck off.” They were pretty much the worst parting words imaginable (if only he’d known he was going to be kidnapped and transported half-way across the globe to perform for aliens).

Matt ran his hands over the pillow and bedspread, and then peeled back the sheet and blanket. He’d half expected the horrific scratchy woollen blankets he’d been subjected to at the orphanage, but these ones were fine Merino, soft and silky. The sheets had a thread count of 500, he assessed. Not bad, he thought as he snuggled down under the covers. He slid his hand down under the bed and touched his father’s jacket briefly. ‘ _Murdocks take a lot of hits but they always get back up_.’ His dad taught him to never give up, whatever the odds. He’d escape this place. He would.

His thoughts were interrupted by the awareness of the rank taste in his mouth. He ran his tongue over his fuzzy teeth.

He sat up. “Hey Foggy?”

“Yeah?”

“Have you seen any toothbrushes around?”

“No.”

Matt lay back down, disappointed. He rubbed his sleeve across his front teeth in an attempt to get the fuzz off, but only succeeded in getting fine fluff in his mouth from his new bodysuit.

“Night, Foggy,” Matt whispered as he rolled over and closed his eyes.

“Night,” Foggy echoed.

As they drifted off to sleep, the friends silently and independently reflected on the extraordinary day; despite all the horribleness, they’d somehow formed an even tighter bond, and it made them strangely happy.

 


	6. Is bowing a uniquely human trait?

Foggy was immensely disappointed to wake up the next day and discover it was not a dream (although it was slightly tempered by the discovery of a toothbrush and comb in the bedside table drawer). Following Matt’s lead, he changed into a new bodysuit and reluctantly approached the food vending machine.

“I’ve never known you to be so unexcited about breakfast,” Matt said, a little too chipper considering their situation.

“Please say they have coffee,” Foggy moaned.

The first thing he looked at when his tray appeared was the print out. “Franklin Nelson; 199 pounds.” He knew Matt would not approve of Foggy being so concerned about his weight, so when Matt said “what’s wrong” in response to Foggy’s change in breath, he just said, “oh, I’m just excited about the coffee.” He had no idea how he’d survive if they didn’t have it.

“Are you sure fruit and coffee is going to be enough?” Matt said as they took their seats. “Don’t you want an egg or something? Protein for your workout.”

“Don’t talk to me about working out, Murdock.”

Foggy said it kind of jokingly, but there was a warning edge to his voice that said ‘ _don’t push me’_. Matt decided to take it up again _after_ the caffeine had sunk in.

The clock advanced into a large black period, and they obediently followed the others into the arena where Baz was holding forth. A ring of Galaxia surrounded him, hanging off his every word. He was praising them in turn, calling them affectionate pet names and issuing commands. Eventually they took off in groups, some of them climbing up to the platforms and ropes, while others started stretching and practicing on the floor. Foggy and Matt stood as close to each other as possible without actually touching. Matt instructed, “if you want to do any gymnastics, you need to increase your core muscles.”

“Create core muscles, you mean. I don’t know if your senses can pick up on this,” Foggy said, prodding at his soft belly, “but I don’t actually have stomach muscles.”

Matt was growing a little tired of Foggy’s self-deprecation. He decided not to play anymore. “Rubbish,” Matt argued. “Everyone has stomach muscles. It’s basic anatomy.”

“You’re so funny,” Foggy said sarcastically.

Matt made to lead Foggy over to the far edge with the intention of starting him on some core exercises, but before they got very far, Baz yelled, “no, Matty, you come over here. And Fogster, you go with Mop.” Baz pointed at a lone figure. It was the guy they’d seen in the ref the previous day.

“Mop the moper,” someone giggled.

Foggy looked at Mop, who glared back. _Just my luck_ , Foggy thought. _He already hates me._

Matt hesitated, not wanting to abandon his friend, but Foggy muttered, “go - I’ll be fine.”

Matt took off in a half skip, and joined Julia who was listening to Baz’s instructions. It appeared Baz saw the chemistry between Julia and Matt too.

Mop turned his back on Foggy and wandered slowly over to the edge of the arena. Foggy followed, but he kept glancing back at Matt who was springing up and down on his toes as he listened to Baz. He looked exceedingly comfortable, excited even, and Foggy wondered if it really was all pretend enthusiasm. Matt genuinely seemed to enjoy hanging from ropes and flipping around. He was in his element here. Goodness knows how he managed to keep up his regular blind persona for all this time when he was able to perform such extraordinary things.

Matt was simultaneously following Foggy’s movements, although in his own non-seeing way. He was intent on fooling Baz into thinking he’d submitted to his captors; but as Foggy had suspected – and if he was being truly honest - he was quite enjoying the physicality and the freedom to perform using the full extend of his abilities.

Matt and Julia tumbled and leaped over each other all morning (or at least ‘morning’ as designated by the arena administrators), with the occasional input or encouraging word from Baz. Matt would obediently grin every time Baz said a nice word, trying to ignore the part of him that actually _enjoyed_ the praise. He suspected that being orphans, most of the Galaxia were probably similarly praise-starved growing up, so any positive feedback meant a great deal.

By lunch, they were both pretty hungry and loaded up on food. Foggy had taken Matt’s advice and ordered protein rather than just vegetables. His stomach muscles still ached a little from yesterday, compounded by the exercises that he performed with the silent and sullen Mop. If Matt said protein would help, well, he’d pretty much do anything to improve his fitness right now.

Foggy and Matt decided to sit with Mop at his usual table in the far corner, despite Julia’s hissed warning. “There’s no point,” she said. “He won’t talk to you. He doesn’t want to be around anyone.”

“He talked to me,” said Foggy, surprised at Julia’s harsh words.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Not much, but a few words.”

“Good work,” Matt whispered to Foggy. “You’ve always been good with people.”

They tried to initiate conversation, but Mop didn’t even look up from his food. Evidently only Foggy was safe enough to talk to.

“So what did you do all morning?” Matt asked Foggy. “Sit-ups?”

“Unfortunately, yes. And I learned to hang from a bar from my knees upside down – it was kinda similar to our net nest escape method.”

“That’s great,” Matt encouraged. “Maybe we could go up to a higher net tonight.”

“Pfft. No way, man.”

“Okay, maybe not tonight. But I promise you’ll get used to it.”

Foggy decided not to argue the point. He’d deal with Matt’s misguided optimism later.

“You’re enjoying all that flippy shit,” Foggy said, munching on a bean.

Matt smiled slightly at Foggy’s turn of phrase. “You saw?”

“Of course. I was mesmerised. How do you think I managed to hang upside down? I was too busy watching your amazing performance to even consider being scared.”

“Ah, so if I do some acrobatics, you’ll go to a higher net?” Matt said hopefully.

“Nice try. But no,” Foggy chuckled. “So… Julia seems nice.”

“Mmm…” Matt hummed, a little distracted.

“What?”

“Oh I was just thinking.”

“About?”

“Never mind. What were you saying about Julia?”

“That she seems nice.”

“Yes,” Matt said simply.

“You like her.”

“As much as someone can when they’re plotting to escape captivity,” Matt whispered into his food to avoid detection.

“You know she has similar coloured hair to you,” Foggy continued.

Matt shrugged. “It doesn’t make any difference to me.”

“Why the sudden mood?” Foggy said, trying to work out what Matt was focussed on beyond Foggy and his food.

Matt didn’t answer. He shovelled another forkful of food into his mouth and announced, “I’m going to the bathroom, excuse me.”

Foggy watched him go, confused as to what he might have said to upset Matt. Was it something about Julia? No, there was something else.

Foggy ate one last mouthful then followed Matt. He found Matt not in the bathroom, but standing as still as a statue next to the doors out of the Galaxia compound. It was such a strange behaviour that Foggy got worried there was something seriously wrong with him.

“Matt?” Foggy whispered. Matt gestured ever so slightly for Foggy to stop. They stood there for another five minutes, Foggy trying to glean exactly what Matt was listening to. Suddenly Matt relaxed and kept walking to the bathroom.

“What was that? Did you hear something?” Foggy said ever so quietly. Matt just shook his head in response, a clear ‘ _don’t ask_ ’ move. Perhaps he’d be more forthcoming later.

They made it through the afternoon, with Baz pushing Matt and Julia to perform increasingly difficult stunts. He ignored Foggy and Mop – something that Foggy couldn’t pretend to be upset about.

By the time they finished in the arena, Foggy was sweaty enough to shed his inhibitions and bathe. He hunched a little, self-conscious, as he slunk naked to the nearest pool. Matt, by comparison, seemed ridiculously confident as he strode over to Foggy’s pool. The other two new recruits – Clint and Yasmin – who, like Foggy, had been too scared to bathe at the end of yesterday, had obviously come to the point of compromise as Foggy. They didn’t hunch, but Yasmin crossed her arms in front of her breasts in a desperate attempt to not feel quite as exposed.

The two friends spent their evening pretty much the same as their first one: creating ever more complex modular origami sculptures then curling up in one of the net nests. Matt didn’t push Foggy into climbing higher, but Foggy knew it was only a matter of time before Matt started bugging him again. At one point Elektra climbed up into their net, and Matt gave her the cold shoulder in a way Foggy had never witnessed before. Matt tended to be exceedingly polite to everyone (kidnappers excluded). Foggy knew very well that Matt often didn’t like many of the people he was nice and polite to – it was a mask he wore, just like his regular blind man persona. But in the arena, he was finally free to take off this mask, and Foggy wondered if it was entirely a good thing.

“Matthew,” Elektra purred, lying down close to the man. Matt ignored her. “We need to talk about Stick.” Matt closed his eyes in attempt to communicate his unwillingness to socialise. He suddenly leaped away from Elektra as if shocked, nearly squishing Foggy in the process. How did Elektra get her words in his head?

“What the fuck, Matt?” Foggy hissed as he pulled his hand out from under Matt’s leg.

“Think about it,” Elektra said, gracefully leaping off the net.

“What the hell was that about?” Foggy demanded.

Matt scowled. “Leave it, Foggy.” He didn’t want to have to explain that Elektra just spoke to him telepathically.

“No, I won’t. Who’s Stick? You promised you’d tell me.”

“I did no such thing,” Matt snapped. “Just leave it, okay?”

Matt was tempted to climb up and away from Foggy just to escape the conversation, but the last thing he needed right now was to fight with the one comforting thing in this place. So he adopted a more sanguine tone and said, “I’m sorry. I’m just a little upset right now. Can we please not talk about it?”

What was Foggy to say to that? There was no point in pushing Matt when he was clearly freaked out by something. “I’m sorry she made you upset. You can’t keep this from me forever, but we don’t need to talk about it now.”

“Thanks,” Matt said, reaching out for Foggy’s hand. They lay there in silence, just as they had the previous night. When the clock eventually slid into the blue zone, Matt helped the now more confident Foggy to flip over and off the net. Foggy felt for the first time that maybe, _just_ maybe, this whole gymnastics thing was not so bad.

The next few days passed in a similar routine: breakfast, arena, lunch, arena, dinner, origami, net, and lastly bed. Every night Foggy would end up sobbing quietly in bed while Matt lay there anxiously and frozen in fear, not knowing how to react. Foggy had always been a let-it-all-out kind of guy, whereas Matt had a metaphorical internal box where he’d keep all the ‘deep down inside feelings’ (as Stick used to derisively call them) under lock and key.

The days were also marked by Matt’s occasional disappearances. Foggy would find him standing by a door or chute, listening. It gave Foggy hope that at least someone was doing something to try and escape.

Eventually Baz cottoned on to Matt’s odd behaviour. Five days into their captivity, Matt was standing near the food chute when Baz waltzed over. Matt casually took a sip of water in an attempt to disguise the fact that he was listening for the kitchen or any sign of activity beyond the ref.

“Matty,” Baz drawled, rustling Matt’s hair affectionately. “You’re doing a lot of loitering near doors. Wotcha listening for?”

Stone-faced, Matt said bluntly, “the general machinations of this place.”

Baz snorted in amusement. “At least you’re being honest. I half expected you to deny you were listening, but that’s not my Matty.” He leaned in and murmured, “you know, you can’t escape this place. I don’t care how good you are at fighting or slipping through cracks. We have weaponry you’ve never even heard of on this tiny miserable earth. We have cameras in every corner of this place. Make a scene and I’ll fog you all, blind you all – including your precious Foggy – no pun intended.” He cackled theatrically. “And now you’re thinking _I’m already blind_ , but you know, I can blind you in other ways, Matty. It’ll hurt you and everyone else. And even if you _do_ escape you’re surrounded by hostile desert. Red sand, lots of sun, no water, no people. No one will even find your body. _Ever_. Would you really want to do that to Foggy - leave him here, alone? Do you want that on your conscience?”

Matt remained expressionless.

“Look, Matty, just enjoy yourself. In the arena you’ll a star. A star with a galactic audience. You’ll be able to do things that you’d never be able to do as poor old blind Matthew Murdock of Hell’s Kitchen. Here, you get fed, watered, waited on. Hell, we’ve even just changed your cotton sheets to silk.”

“Just because you treat a caged animal well, it doesn’t mean it’s right.” Matt muttered, breaking his silence.

Baz laughed. “That’s my Matty. Use the fight, channel it.” He rustled Matt’s hair again and wandered off.

Matt couldn’t cope with Baz’s strange reactions to things. He was erratic and nothing – _nothing –_ seemed to faze him. Matt couldn’t make sense of it and that scared him more than anything, even more than the threats. He listened for Foggy’s heartbeat, desperately needing his best friend – his rock – to ground him.

“Matt, what’s wrong?” Foggy said. Matt looked devastated. His mouth quivered a little and Foggy wondered if he was finally going to witness Matthew Murdock, supreme master of supressing emotions, cry. Matt let out a deep breath and quickly tried to return his face to his regular neutral expression. As much as he didn’t want to see his friend cry, Foggy wondered if it would be better for him to actually let it all out rather than practice this continual suppression.

Matt suddenly took off in the direction of the dorms, not wanting Foggy to see this weakness. He’d stuffed up. He’d broken his façade of compliant assimilation, and now to make things worse he was crying about it like a baby.

Foggy followed. “Matty, where-”

Matt turned around, fuming. “Don’t call me Matty,” he hissed, and took off once again.

“Fuck,” Foggy said to himself. He hesitated then decided to wait a while before following Matt into the dorms.

Matt half ran into his sleeping nook and felt under the bed. Surprisingly, his father’s jacket was still there. They evidently knew about the hidden jacket if they’d changed his sheets – which they had. He slumped down onto the bed, holding the edge of the jacket. They seemed so intent on wiping all hope of escape, making his life quite liveable in this fishbowl of a place. They even gave him silk sheets, for fucks sake. But then they left the one thing that gave him hope of escape. He just couldn’t cope with the mind games. If they knew about the jacket, he probably didn’t need to hide it from whatever cameras they had dotted around the place, so he pulled the jacket out from under the bed and lay down on his stomach, burying his face in the cheap acrylic and breathing in the remnant smell of his father – a combination of sweat, second-hand smoke and cheap whiskey. His father called him Matty, and it used to warm him when Foggy used his pet name; but now even that had been stolen from him through Baz’s continual use. Tears welled in his eyes and he tried to swallow them away. What was he doing wallowing when he needed to channel all his energy into finding an escape? He couldn’t fail at this; he couldn’t. What would his dad say if he knew he was crying into an old jacket? What would Stick say?

“Get up,” he whispered to himself.

“What did you say?” Foggy whispered back, tentatively placing a hand on Matt’s shoulder.

Matt jumped. He was so absorbed in his own situation that he didn’t even notice Foggy approach. _Weak, lazy, soft_ , he heard Stick say. He’d been self-indulgent, self-pitying, and as a result he’d let someone sneak up on him.

“Sorry,” Matt croaked, sitting up but not lifting his face in Foggy’s direction. He didn’t want Foggy to see his tears.

“It’s okay, stay there if you want.”

“I think I’ll wash my face,” said Matt, gently tucking his father’s jacket back under the bed. Foggy watched him critically, debating whether or not to follow Matt into the bathroom. In the end he decided to give Matt a little space and sat down on his own bed to wait for Matt’s return. They were so rarely alone in this place. Maybe he needed it.

Matt returned five minutes later. “Shall we return to the, um, what’s the time?”

“Black,” Foggy said, looking up at the bar on the dorm wall.

Matt reached out for Foggy’s arm, and Foggy knew that it was Matt’s non-verbal way of saying _thank you for being there_.

 

* * *

 

The next day, the Galaxia were in a flurry. It was performance day.

“Ah, I wondered what the different colours on the end of the bar meant,” Foggy said to himself half way through breakfast.

“There are more colours?” Matt said, mid-mouthful.

“Yeah, remember when I described it to you on – fuck, I don’t even remember, or even know what day it is-”

“Day 6” Matt said instantly. “Week 1 – well, their week anyway. I’m guessing the bar returns to the left side once this day is over.”

“Yeah I guess,” Foggy said, not really caring.

“What’s the next colour?”

“It’s yellow. Quite a lot of yellow. Then red. I guess red means performance.”

“So we do whatever we want all day?”

“Yeah, sweet. Maybe I’ll get you to teach me how to make a paper Labrador.”

Matt tilted his head slightly, listening to some of the conversations at the adjacent tables.

“I think there’s a lot of preening pre-performance.”

“Yeah, I can’t believe what a bit deal it is. I mean, why do people even want to perform?”

“It’s pretty much the only goal in this place,” Matt said. “It’s nice to aim for something, particularly when you’ve invested a lot of time and effort into perfecting the perfect gymnastics routine. Performing is so entwined in the social structure here that the Galaxia have equated it with power and prestige.”

“Yeah I guess. But _you_ don’t want to perform.”

Matt shrugged. “I might.” He knew very well that Baz planned to put him on stage the following week, but he didn’t think Foggy would take it very well just yet. He’d wait till after the performance to tell him.

Foggy turned his focus back to his breakfast. He didn’t like the idea that Matt would actively participate in this charade.

 

* * *

 

After breakfast, they wandered out to watch the performers prepare. Julia was to perform a floor routine with one of her old partners, and Matt and Foggy found the pair amending the sleeves of their performance costumes in the corner of the craft room. Julia’s partner was head down, concentrating on the thread, whereas Julia sat upright, regularly running her hands over her work in lieu of sight.

Matt knelt down in front of Julia, who offered him the sleeve to touch. “It’s lovely,” he said softly, running his fingers over the fine pattern.

“Here’s the top,” she said, placing the body of the costume into his hands. Matt gently felt the hand-sewn rows of diamantes along the chest.

“You’re very talented. Do you change costumes often?” Matt asked, feeling the delicate stitching along the neck.

“Yeah, particularly if I change partners. You should start making one for our performance next week. We should come up with a theme,” she said brightly.

Matt could hear Foggy’s heartbeat change at this revelation. Damn.

Julia also noticed his heartbeat. “Are you okay?” She asked Foggy, oblivious as to why Foggy might find Matt’s performance anxiety-inducing.

“Yeah… yeah I’m fine,” Foggy said hastily. “Do you need any help?”

“You’ll do our make-up.”

Julia’s partner looked a little uncomfortable at this suggestion, but didn’t protest.

Foggy looked confused. “Me?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“Because – I’m a-”

“An amazing artist,” Matt finished.

Foggy snorted. “How-”

“-would I know?” Matt laughed. “Last Christmas, your sister told me about your job as an undergrad doing specialist make-up for a theatre company.”

“I told you about that,” Foggy said indignantly.

“ _You_ said you worked back of house at a theatre company. Your _sister_ told me that you were an amazingly gifted make-up and special effects artist.”

“Oh.”

“No excuses, buddy.” Matt asked Julia, “what do you use for make-up?”

“There’s an entire cupboard of make up, facepaint and decorations. Right at the far end. Can you see it, Foggy?”

“I’ll go have a look.” Foggy tapped Matt on the shoulder from his still standing position. Matt took the hint and accompanied Foggy to the make-up cupboard, but not before whispering in a voice only audible to Julia, “you saw this, didn’t you.”

“Yep,” Julia replied. “He does a terrific job.”

“Matt, I can’t do this,” Foggy moaned as they walked to the cupboard.

“Just remember Julia can hear everything you say,” Matt warned.

“Yeah, I know. I’m just having a whinge. Can you let me whinge please?”

Matt chuckled. “Yeah, I know.”

Foggy looked over the contents of the cupboard. “This is amazing,” he gushed. “Really high end products… and what are these?” he shook a small bottle of shiny fake jewels.

“Plastic,” Matt said.

“Yeah but it’s shiny plastic,” Foggy said, holding the bottle up to the light. “They kind of look like water drops. Wow.”

Matt snorted. “I had no idea you were so into shiny things,” he teased.

“Don’t be like that,” Foggy retorted. “If you could see it-”

“That’s a bit mean,” Matt said good-humouredly.

Foggy shook a couple of drops into the palm of his hand, and held one up to Matt’s face. “You’d look good bejewelled.”

“Maybe next week then,” Matt said cautiously, listening for Foggy’s reaction.

“Well, don’t keep stuff from me in the future please,” Foggy said, guessing that Matt had kept the planned performance participation from him deliberately. “You don’t need to protect me from the truth.”

Matt gave a half-assed grunt of assent as he reached into the cupboard, trying to identify the contents of the various tubes, containers and palettes.

Foggy pointed to each shelf in turn: “paint, regular make-up, diamantes, and glittery stuff. You _know_ where I’m pointing, right? I’m still coming to grips with what you can and can’t see – I mean-”

“See is fine. It’s a figure of speech, not necessarily a literal term.”

“Yeah I know,” Foggy said. Matt had always used vision-related words figuratively. “It’s just a bit different now. I don’t know how to describe whatever you can sense.”

“To answer your original question, I can usually sense pointing - if I’m paying attention, that is.”

“So the same as everyone else then. Although given my minute attention span, you probably sense people pointing more often than me.”

“Stop putting yourself down, Foggy.” Matt grabbed Foggy’s elbow. “Come on, let’s see what make-up they want,” Matt said, pulling him back to Julia and her performance partner.

“My name is Meng,” Julia’s partner said in stilted English when Foggy asked her name.

“My name is-”

“I know,” Meng interrupted, just as so many of the other Galaxia had done when Foggy had tried to introduce himself personally. She wasn’t being rude. There was no hostility. Introductions and relationships just seemed to be a bit different in the arena. Foggy knew that, but it didn’t stop him from shrinking slightly at Meng’s response.

Matt tried to relieve the situation by asking the two women what make up they wanted. Julia simply wanted something not too itchy, whereas Meng wanted a facial decoration that would match their bodysuits, which were a glittering silver with turquoise embroidery.

As the women got changed, Foggy raided the make-up cupboard. He was itching to use the ‘water drops’, as he now called them. He created a bottom layer of silver paint, then added bluish shadows to bring out the contours of each performer’s face, sticking the drops in a delicate pattern along their cheeks. As he moved onto their temples, Julia held her hand up. “Stop.”

“Is it too itchy?” Foggy said, worried.

“That’s where the pulse band goes.”

“Pulse band?” repeated Matt.

“Yeah, aliens get off on our fear and adrenaline,” Julia said. “They’re attached in some way. I don’t know how it works.”

“That’s sick,” Matt said. Foggy just looked at Julia in horror.

“They light up,” Meng added. “It’s pretty.”

Matt and Foggy let out a concurrent huff of disgust.

“Have you finished?” Julia asked Foggy.

“Uh, I guess. If you can’t have anything on your temples…”

“Good. We’re going to warm up.” Julia and Meng quickly ducked away from the two men who were oozing poisonous rage.

“Holy fuck,” Foggy said. “Every time I think this place couldn’t get more disgusting, another perversion is added. You’re not seriously still thinking of performing are you?” He was met with an uncomfortable silence. “Matt? You’re not going to-”

Matt leaned into Foggy. “When I came up with my plan, it meant adhering to it warts and all. If I have to wear a sensor to achieve this goal then-”

“But it’s sick and wrong,” Foggy cried. A couple of the nearby Galaxia raised their heads at Foggy’s outburst. He lowered his voice. “And I don’t want you to get hurt. Not for them.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a couple of the Galaxia, who approached Foggy and asked him to do their make-up. He started to wave them off, but Matt quickly said, “he’d love to do it, _wouldn’t you Foggy?”_ If Matt was going to leap around mid-air to pleasure aliens, he expected Foggy to at least assimilate into the Earth Arena in his own way.

“Uh, yeah,” said Foggy weakly, taking the hint. “What do you want?”

Foggy did another two groups’ faces before they were all called to the arena where a couple of Baz’s assistants were already affixing pulse bands to each of the performers.

“Tell me what’s going on,” Matt whispered to Foggy.

“They’re putting the bands on everyone. But not just their temples. They have them around their wrists and ankles, and another one stuck to their heart. It looks like it’s pinned through the bodysuit.” He thought for a second. “It explains why many of the costume decorations are slightly lop-sided at the top. They’re concentrated around the heart.”

Matt just raised his eyebrows.

“It’s almost like a religious ceremony, Matt. It’s fucking weird.”

Baz wandered over to the group of non-performing Galaxia, most of whom were looking exceedingly unhappy about being left out. “Now, now, don’t pout, my little Thuy,” he said patting one of the Galaxia’s head. “Work hard and I’ll put you on next time.” Thuy brushed a tear from her eyes and nodded. “And my four new recruits,” he added, not even acknowledging Foggy’s existence, “you’ll get a go next week. Just enjoy the show.” He smiled and Clint and Yasmin grinned back, evidently keen to participate. Elektra’s smile was probably closer to a snarl than a grin, although at least she was trying. Matt didn’t acknowledge the smile at all, remaining stone-faced the entire time. However, it was plausible that Matt didn’t even sense the smile.

The excluded Galaxia sat in the shadows at the edge of the arena as the performers stretched theatrically under the bright lights. All of a sudden the arena went dark save for the blinking lights of the pulse bands. Foggy reluctantly acknowledged that Meng was right – they were pretty.

“Oh, the lights have gone off,” Foggy whispered to Matt.

“We’re moving,” Matt responded.

“What?”

“The arena. It’s slowly rising.”

Foggy stared at the now shiny walls, which were reflecting hundreds of glittering lights – the collective pulse of the Galaxia.

“Can you see anything through the glass?”

“Oh, it’s _glass_ ,” Foggy said. “Of course. Um, not really. Just the lights. It must be one-way.”

Matt sighed.

“Hang on, can’t you sense people – or whatever these things are - through glass?”

“It must be triple layered or something. I can’t get a read on anything.”

“How does someone triple layer a circular glass wall of this scale?” Foggy asked quite reasonably.

“My thresholds of wonder, disbelief and surprise have been dramatically recalibrated over the last week,” Matt muttered.

“Hang on,” Foggy said as his eyes adjusted. “I think I can see something waving. It’s big.” He squinted, trying to make out the rest of the form, but then the lights switched on.

“What was it? Was it-“

“I don’t know,” Foggy hissed, a little upset with himself. He lowered his voice to a level audible only to Matt. “The lights are back… and Baz is standing on a dais, wearing a suit of sequins.” Foggy snorted, attracting death glares from a couple of his fellow Galaxia.

“Visitors to the Earth Arena… welcome!” Baz lifted his arms in the air, and a couple of the Galaxia gathered around the platform bounced a little in excitement. “You’ve travelled far and wide to see these remarkable human beings, the most intelligent creatures on this planet. This little planet is one of the few at this end of the galaxy to remain isolated - untouched by galaxisation - which means that the display you see here is entirely unique…”

Matt screwed up his face a little as Baz introduced the Galaxia with great hyperbole. Foggy touched Matt’s arm, concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“I can hear something.” He tilted his head slightly. “It’s like they’re translating the speech… I can hear something from behind the glass… it’s not a language I’ve ever heard before.”

“What-”

Matt put his hand up to stop Foggy talking, requiring all the concentration he could muster to listen past the layers of glass. Before he could grasp at anything concrete, Baz finished his introduction. Matt sighed as the suspected translation ended as well, although he remained slightly twitchy and unsettled, which in turn wasn’t exactly helping Foggy’s anxiety levels.

Foggy put his hand on Matt’s to try and calm him. “The lights have now focussed just on the floor,” he whispered to Matt. “It’s the twins.” Foggy watched as the two boys flipped and twirled around the arena, throwing each other up in the air while performing gravity-defying twisting somersaults. Their pulse bands blinked faster and faster as their moves grew ever more complex. They finished to a round of applause from the surrounding Galaxia. But if there was clapping beyond the glass, not even Matt could hear it.

The performances gradually inched their way skywards. Julia and Meng performed another floor routine, followed by another trio of ‘Earthlings’. Baz introduced a group of six Galaxia who performed in the lower section of the trapeze structure (‘Satellites’, Matt reminded Foggy). If Foggy thought the floor routines were impressive, they were nothing compared to the aerials.

“They’ve removed the safety net,” Foggy hissed as he suddenly realised there was nothing between the performers and the floor. “I didn’t notice before.”

“That’s one way to increase someone’s pulse,” Matt said wryly.

“What happens if they fall?” Now it was Foggy who was shaking.

Matt tried to push that thought far from his mind.

Finally Baz announced the grand finale: Sam and Natasha up in the Solar zone. The height was such that a fall would mean certain death. They tumbled and flipped through the air, catching each other as they swung between platforms, ropes, fabric tissues and the trapeze, their pulse bands flashing at an increasingly fast pace. Foggy watched through a crack in his fingers. All of a sudden, Sam leaped off the top platform, plummeting head-first towards the ground, his bands pulsing wildly. Someone swung a floor length tissue towards him, and he caught it just in time, quickly slowing himself down only moments before he hit the bottom.

“Breathe,” Matt whispered to Foggy, who realised that he’d actually stopped in fright.

“Did you see – did you know what-”

“Yes. I bet the ETs got a kick out of that,” Matt said sardonically.

“Don’t joke, Matt.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Do you think bowing is a uniquely human trait?” Foggy asked Matt as the Galaxia took their bows. He couldn’t get Baz’s description of Earth as a quaint and backwards culture out of his head.

“Gymnastics is probably equally so.”

“What do aliens do for sport?” Foggy only realised what a ridiculous question it was _after_ Matt had let out a huff of amusement.

The lights switched off as the arena started to descend. Foggy squinted, trying to make out the waving forms from before, but the lights during the performance had been too bright; before Foggy’s eyes had a chance to adjust, the room was back at its original level. The performers laughed and chatted as they left the arena, high on endorphins from their death-defying stunts.

Julia skipped over to Matt and murmured “next week” in his ear before rejoining the group of performers who were snaking out a small door off the rec room – one that Matt and Foggy had never seen open before. Matt whispered to Julia “where are you going?” as she exited, to which she simply replied “to relax.”

Foggy noticed Matt’s moving lips and tugged on his arm. “Tell me! What’s going on?”

“They’re going to relax. Apparently.” Matt looked just as perplexed as Foggy.

In the confusion, Elektra sidled up to Matt. “Are you ready to put all of Stick’s training to good use?”

“We have very different interpretations of the term ‘good use’,” Matt said crisply.

“Tell me what you’ve found, Matthew.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything.”

“But don’t you want to escape?”

“Why don’t you want to tell her anything, Matt?” Foggy said, confused about the animosity between the two.

“It’s because the old man never finished training him. Matt has a chip just there.” Elektra poked Matt’s shoulder.

“You still haven’t told me who Stick is,” Foggy said, crossing his arms.

“He taught me how to do everything I can do,” Matt explained. “He taught me how to use my senses, how to fight, how to manage pain and injury-”

“Sounds like a caring guy,” Foggy said sarcastically.

“See? This is why I didn’t tell you.”

“Okay, okay. So who was this guy?”

“He found me in the orphanage. He was blind like me-”

“Hang on, a blind old man taught you the ancient ways of martial arts? Isn’t that the plot to Kung Fu?”

“I know how it sounds, Foggy.”

“I don’t think that you do. It’s absurd. Are you sure you’re not having me on?”

“Fine. Don’t believe me. What would you rather hear? That I just woke up after the accident magically able to do everything that I can do? I worked hard to gain these skills and abilities, Foggy. I always do. You of all people should know that.”

Before Foggy could respond to Matt’s cutting words, Elektra interrupted. “So where did you get to in your training? Sticks, knives, telepathy, cheating death…?”

Matt looked at her in disbelief. “You can cheat death?”

“Who knows. I didn’t get that far in my training,” Elektra said bitterly. “Stick abandoned me - just like you.”

“Bastard,” Foggy muttered.

“He helped me, Foggy. Without him, I – I don’t know what I’d have become.” Matt seemed quite disturbed by this thought so Foggy let it be.

“Telepathy,” Matt said slowly. “That’s how… but how?”

Elektra stood there looking smug. “As I said before, share with me whatever you find and together we’ll come up with a plan to escape.”

“We’ll think about it,” Matt offered before turning on his heels. “Come on, Foggy.” Foggy obediently followed.

The performers still hadn’t returned by the time Matt and Foggy went to bed that evening. They speculated as to where they might have gone, each time coming up with more and more absurd theories out of sheer amusement.

The not knowing filled Matt with more dread than the performance itself. Julia had seemed excited about the whole ‘relaxing’ thing, so it couldn’t be bad; but then again, the Galaxia seemed to accept captivity. What a curious social experiment this was. He whispered a prayer and willed himself to go to sleep.


	7. The Devil of Hell's Kitchen and the Angel of LA

The performers returned the next morning looking tired but happy. Matt was torn between wanting to know what Julia meant by ‘relax’ and remaining ignorant about yet another potentially creepy aspect of the compound for at least another week.

That morning, Julia and Matt worked with Baz to develop a floor routine for the next scheduled performance. The moves weren’t particularly challenging for the duo, but neither of them wanted to volunteer that information and potentially risk their lives. There was a part of Matt, however, that longed to climb and jump and somersault in the Satellite zone, and he had to keep reminding himself that he had a single mission: to escape uninjured.

Clint and Yasmin begged Baz to let them perform and because they’d collaborated before on the outside, Baz accepted their proposal to work together again (‘for now’). It turned out Clint wasn’t lying about his skills as an archer. One of their past collaborative stunts consisted of Clint shooting arrows at random targets behind Yasmin, who would gracefully dance through the moving arrows. It wasn’t hard to develop their pre-existing performance into something more acrobatic. In a surprising move, Baz agreed to provide Clint with a real bow and modified arrows with the condition that only Clint was to handle them.

Matt overheard the initial conversation between Baz and Clint, and wondered if the arrows would still have the ability to take someone down, even with the foam tips. Matt had never used a bow and arrow before, but if he got Clint on board...

He approached Clint that evening, deliberately using cryptic language for his proposal. “Those arrows could do a lot of damage,” he started.

“Yep. The foam tip threw me off a bit at first because it’s quite light and affects the arrow’s path. But the arrows are still super fast. It could definitely skewer someone,” Clint agreed.

“It’s tempting, no?”

“What do you mean?”

“To use it against… y’know.”

“Not really. Realistically there’s no getting outta here. You can’t see it but this place has security everywhere. Besides, this place is not so bad. I get a stellar bow, I don’t have to worry about my next meal, and they’re even replacing my ancient clunky hearing aids with some whizz bang new ones.” Clint grinned.

That explains the constant buzzing emanating from Clint, thought Matt.

“You don’t want to escape?” Matt asked.

“I don’t want to live in captivity, if that’s what you mean. But if I’m not going to get out, then I’m not going to cause more trouble for myself in here.”

“So you have no hope,” Matt said incredulously.

“I always have hope, man. I’m also realistic.”

 

When Elektra sauntered up after dinner, Matt resisted the urge to run away. “It’s too early to act, Matthew,” she whispered. “And even if you do get your hands on the bow and arrows, there’s no way you’ll be able to escape this place with foam tips.”

“How did you know? Can you read my mind too?” Matt glared at her.

“I don’t need mind reading to glean your plans. You weren’t exactly subtle about it. You watched Clint and his arrows all afternoon, and then approached him at dinner. It won’t work. Foam will maim but it won’t kill; and it definitely won’t break through a heavily fortified door.”

“I’ll fashion new tips from something around here.”

“Have you ever shot an arrow in your life?”

“No, but I’m a quick learner.”

Elektra sighed. “It’s the wrong play, Matthew. Wait. Observe. Find their weaknesses. We will escape, but not if you rush off on your own.”

She was probably right. They were probably best collaborating, and he needed to swallow his jealousy that Stick had provided Elektra with more training, not to mention his fear about her telepathic abilities.

Matt was still curious about the arrows, so the next day while Clint and Yasmin were practicing their routine, Matt timed a series of cartwheels so that he could end up in the firing range and catch one of the arrows in a somersaulting leap. He could hold one under the guise of showing off. Unfortunately, the plan backfired. Baz thought Matt’s move was wonderful, and decided that Matt would perform twice that week: once with Julia, and again with Yasmin and Clint, catching their arrows mid-air.

“You can catch arrows mid-air,” said a bewildered Foggy when they were in the craft area later that night. “What _can’t_ you do exactly?”

“See,” said Matt simply. “And I can’t make friends like you do,” he added.

Foggy didn’t know how to respond to the latter comment. He’d always been able to make small talk with pretty much anyone, and he had lots of distant friends and acquaintances, but Matt had been his first and only really close friend. “I don’t want any more friends,” he eventually said. “Just you.”

Matt blushed.

“So let’s do this costume thing,” Foggy said to break the awkwardness. “What do you want?”

Matt called Julia over, and they sat down together and tossed around ideas.

“On your first night someone asked ‘are you devils?’ when you said you were from Hell’s Kitchen, so maybe-” Julia said.

“What, so we dress up as devils?” Matt interrupted with a laugh.

Foggy blurted out, “you could be called the Devils of Hell’s Kitchen. No, wait… The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen and the Devil of LA…”

“Maybe I could dress up as an angel?” Julia offered. “It’s a bit clichéd I know.”

“Yeah, but it’s going to be pretty kitsch anyway,” said Foggy.

Matt smiled. “I like it. Can you make me some horns?”

“Won’t that slow you down?”

“Mmm no… not if you make them small. I don’t want floppy ones that hit me in the nose.”

“Who wears floppy horns?” Foggy said with a snort.

Matt shrugged. “You said something about slowing me down. Floppy horns would. And no tail – I might trip on it.”

“This is getting ridiculous, guys,” Julia interrupted. “Foggy, can you make a Devil of Hell’s Kitchen costume for Matt and an Angel of LA one for me?”

“I’ll try. So Matt, you want red and Julia, you want white?”

“Preferably with feathers,” Julia said hopefully.

“I want feathers too,” Matt said.

“You can’t have feathers if you’re the devil. They’d burn.”

“I’m not in hell yet, Foggy. I want feathers.” Matt gave Foggy his sad pleading look.

“Not that look again. Stop it.” Foggy said in a tone of mock-anger, hitting Matt playfully.

Matt tried to keep his expression strategically pathetic, but his mouth twitched and a smile broke through.

Foggy finally gave in. “Alright, I’ll give you feathers. It’s going to be ridiculous anyway.”

“Yay! Thank you Foggy.” Matt reached over and hugged Foggy, and Julia did the same.

“Did you play dress-ups as a kid?”

“No, never. Why?”

“Explains a few things…” Foggy muttered.

“What does it explain?”

“The fact that you just regressed into an excited child.”

“Did not.” Matt said pouting.

“Exactly.”

Julia sprung to her feet, eager to halt the unhelpful exchange between the two men. “Let’s go find the feathers.”

* * *

 

As the week went on, they settled into the routine of meals, practice and crafting costumes. Foggy and Julia showed Matt how to sew feathers onto his costume, and Foggy was a bit peeved when Matt picked it up quickly and was almost instantly faster than Foggy. “I’ll leave you to it,” Foggy said once Matt got the rhythm, and got to work on the Devil’s hood - horns and all.

On the day of the performance, Foggy had a small queue of Galaxia waiting for him to finish Matt and Julia’s face decoration so that Foggy could work his magic on them too. Foggy still couldn’t probably somersault, but he’d carved his little place out within the Galaxia community as _the_ performance prep guy.

He drew some black lips on Matt’s otherwise red face, and stuck a couple of feather ‘sideburns’ onto his cheeks for good luck. Matt was thrilled with the outfit, particularly the feathers edging his outer thighs and upper arms. He stood there in his costume repeatedly stroking the feathered areas. They were soft and subtly gave way under his fingers with each stroke.

“You’ll brush them all off if you don’t stop fondling your feathers,” Foggy eventually hissed. Matt had always been drawn to tactile objects, particularly soft, silky ones, so his attraction to the feathers wasn’t exactly surprising to Foggy. But Matt’s behaviour looked decidedly weird if you didn’t know him.

“They’re not coming loose, Foggy,” Matt reassured him. They were still stuck fast to the lycra bodysuit. He would know if any of them were coming loose.

Julia wandered over in her white feathered outfit, complete with a glittery silver pipecleaner halo that wouldn’t look out of place in a school nativity play. Much to Foggy’s concurrent dismay and amusement, she was also affectionately stroking the feathers like they were a much-loved pet. He’d become somewhat used to Matt’s eccentricities over the last two years, and it was amusing to meet someone else with similar tendencies.

Foggy felt a slight pang of jealousy as Matt and Julia linked arms and walked into the arena. He hung back with Mop and the other non-performing Galaxia, and watched nervously as technicians attached bands to Matt and Julia’s pulse points. Baz smiled as the pair joined the rest of the troupe, ruffling Matt and Julia’s hair in praise and encouragement. They both smiled, much to Foggy’s surprise.

When the lights eventually turned off and the arena started to ascend, Foggy tried to spot the flailing limbs of aliens once again. But there was nothing. Perhaps they’re invisible aliens this time, he thought to himself. Or tiny ones without limbs. What do aliens look like anyway?

Matt and Julia’s performance was fairly low stakes compared to the later aerial stunts, but Foggy still tensed every time they leaped into the air. At one point a single feather puffed out of Matt’s costume during a spinning somersault, and Foggy swore under his breath. He could swear Matt winked at him in response as he landed.

Foggy was more nervous about Matt’s following performance with Yasmin and Clint. Still dressed as the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, he ran, jumped and twirled to catch each arrow mid-air. It was impossible not to be impressed by his incredible skill and timing, particularly with the final arrow where he flipped onto a low platform, kicked off sideways with one foot, and caught the arrow at the height of about twelve feet before landing in a roll.

“Didn’t die, didn’t die, didn’t die…” Foggy breathed as the trio took a bow.

Foggy concentrated on watching the now cross-legged Matt for the rest of the performance. He and Julia stood out amongst the performers as the only two without their heads raised to the ceiling. At once stage, there was a yell as one of the performers missed her cue, but fortunately her partner corrected herself in time. Foggy allowed himself to briefly look up, and saw that their pulse bands were flickering noticeably faster. _Good for the aliens_ , Foggy thought cynically.

He looked back at Matt who was silently mouthing, “breathe” in his direction. Foggy felt warmed by Matt’s concern and whispered back, “I’m trying.” Matt smiled slightly.

The performance finished once again with the superstars Natasha and Sam, and Baz hugged them both when they returned to the floor, much to their surprise and happiness. He seemed thrilled with the night’s event - more so than the previous week - and Foggy suspected it was because of the near accident and subsequent pulse boost. “ _Sick_ ,” he whispered to himself. Matt gave him a wry smile from across the room.

Foggy felt a bit lost as everyone streamed out of the arena. Last week, he and Matt had clung together throughout the event, but this time he watched as Matt chatted excitedly to the rest of the performers as they had their pulse bands removed. If Matt was still only _acting_ like he was enjoying it, he was doing a stellar job.

As the performers streamed through the secret door, Matt stopped and pulled Foggy aside. “I’ll try and come back before bed. I promise. I don’t want to go, but I don’t think it’s negotiable, I’m sorry.” Matt had a look of such concern and worry on his still sweaty face that Foggy felt a sudden urge to hug him.

“What was that for?” Matt said with a small smile as they eventually pulled away.

“You,” Foggy said plainly. “I don’t know. You’re a good man, Matthew Murdock.”

Matt put his head down almost shyly, and repeated, “I’ll be back soon,” before quickly catching up to the waiting Julia, who stroked his feathers a few times before they continued through the door.

Foggy joined the other eight non-performing Galaxia in the baths before wandering to dinner. Foggy sat with Mop on the corner table, who acknowledged him with a curt nod before turning back to his food. Foggy felt incredibly alone. He was used to chattering away with Matt over dinner, and even in their silent moments, he felt like they were communicating in other ways. Finally Foggy couldn’t stand the silence anymore and said to Mop, “do you know – have you ever been through there?”

Mop stared at Foggy until he felt exceedingly uncomfortable and regretted asking the question. Eventually Mop said, “yes,” and returned to his food.

“What’s through there?”

Mop gave Foggy a look of frustration, but Foggy was undeterred. “Do they celebrate?”

“It depends what you mean by celebrate,” Mop said sullenly.

Foggy knew he had to change tack. If Mop had been through there then he’d evidently once been enthusiastic enough to be chosen as a performer. Something must have happened, and perhaps it had to do with-

“Why were you here that day when we arrived?” Foggy blurted out. “You know, you were eating alone while everyone was in the arena.”

Mop didn’t look up from his food when he eventually spoke. “I had just spent time as a ‘pet’.” He spat out that last word as if it were poisonous.

“Pet?”

“Yep. If you’re not performing, they make use of you elsewhere. One of those uses is to join the equivalent of a petting zoo.”

“What? Like a farm animal?”

Mop let out a sigh of frustration. “Those farm animals are probably treated better than the pets here. They stick you in a white box with a one-way mirrored glass front and a hole where curious alien tourists can stick their head in and pat you.”

“That’s sick.”

“Yeah. It fucks with your head. You can sit in the corner out of the reach of most limbs if you want, but after awhile the solitude starts to eat away at you and you start to crave human contact. Now, there are no other humans around, so you end up with the second best option: the aliens. By the time my stint as a pet was up, I would let them pet me just because I craved touch. I hated myself for giving in like that.”

“But they let you come back here.”

“They told me that I should better appreciate what I have here and cooperate, or else.”

“That’s not a choice.”

“Exactly. I don’t want to participate in any part of this scheme, regardless of the relative comfort in the arena.”

“Can you tell me what’s through the door?” Foggy tried again.

“More food, lounge areas, warm baths, a place to drop your outfits off for dry cleaning-”

Foggy snorted at the relative normality of the dry cleaning and Mop looked a bit offended.

“Sorry, go on,” Foggy said.

“There’s areas for a bit more privacy, drugs-”

“Drugs?” Foggy yelped. “As in-”

“They make you feel great. They make you think that maybe this place is okay.”

“The drugs are optional though, right?”

“Yeah, but most people take them.”

“Fuck,” Foggy said under his breath. Matt wouldn’t take drugs, would he? He barely drank in college, and had always turned down the odd joint Foggy had offered him. There was no way. 

* * *

 

Matt sat in the warm bath with his arm around Julia’s shoulders. He’d been initially scared of the other side of the door, but once he realised it was just a slightly more luxurious version of their regular space, he relaxed a little and ended up snuggling with Julia in a shallow area of the large pool. He rubbed one of his feet over Julia’s, who said, “your soles are getting pruney. Come on, let’s get some food,” standing up in the water. Matt reluctantly followed. He’d been enjoying the female contact after the many weeks of abstinence.

They dressed in fresh bodysuits and joined most of the other Galaxia at a large table that was scattered with plates of food.

“Someone in charge must like Harry Potter,” Matt said to Julia as he heaped food onto his plate. “Isn’t this like the great feast?” He took a mouthful of fish that had been poached in chilli and ginger. “Then again, I don’t think they had chilli at Hogwarts. This is superb.”

Matt helped himself to seconds of the fish, then moved onto the deserts. He wondered if he could feasibly smuggle one of the pannacottas back to Foggy, who was such a fan that he’d mock proposed to the creamy desert at his parents’ house last Christmas. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the type of object you could stash in a skin-tight leotard.

Julia left his side briefly after the meal, returning with a pill that she snapped in half. She swallowed one half and offered the other to Matt. “What’s that?” Matt said with a slight waver in his voice.

“I don’t know. We jokingly call it Soma.”

Matt raised his eyebrows. “From Brave New World?”

Julia shrugged. “Something like that.”

“You’re willingly taking drugs?” Matt said in disbelief.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t you?”

“Because they’ll-”

“Matt, can you just relax and enjoy yourself for the evening please? You don’t have to take anything.” She lowered her voice, “I usually stuff the other half in my bra and keep it for mid-week anyway. A whole one is too much with my senses. Yours too, I’d imagine.”

“I’m not taking it,” Matt reiterated.

“I know. But I know you want to sleep with me. I can hear your heartbeat. Oh-” she said listening intently, “heart rate increasing…” she started giggling as Matt’s sudden self-consciousness led to an even faster heartbeat. “You really _do_ want to sleep with me,” she said seriously. She grabbed his hand and pulled him in the direction of a hallway. “Come on.”

Julia led him into a small room with a bed and a less-than-discrete basket of condoms. “So that’s what you meant by relax,” Matt said cynically.

“Not always. Last week I took half a pill and lay in one of the fluffy nests in the main room and dreamed about you,” Julia said bluntly.

“Oh.” Matt had his suspicions, but hadn’t realised the extent of their mutual attraction.

Sex with Julia was a revelation. He suspected their shared sensitivities would result in a unique experience, but he couldn’t have predicted the sheer synchronicity between the two of them, the delicacy of every movement and touch, and the resulting mind-blowing bliss. It was everything Matt dreamed of and more. It was, however, a little too successful in getting him to relax, because it was only afterwards - when Julia and Matt were lying rumpled, exhausted and happy in bed - that Matt suddenly remembered his promise to Foggy.

“What time is it?” he said, sitting up with a jolt.

“Who cares,” Julia responded in a tired voice. “They’ll come get us in the morning.”

“I have to go back to Foggy.”

“Why?”

“Because I promised.”

Julia snorted. “But whatever for?”

“Because I don’t want to abandon him.”

“You’ll be reunited with your strange friend in the morning, Matt,” Julia said, unimpressed.

Matt sat up and slithered back into his bodysuit, making his way back to the entrance corridor. Baz sauntered up from behind. “Wotcha doing, Matty? You’re not listening for escape hatches again, are you?”

“No, I want to go back to the main area to sleep.”

“We can get you some silk sheets for this area,” Baz said, patting Matt’s shoulder.

“No- that’s not – I just want to go back. Please.”

“Yeah, okay. I don’t know why you’d want to, but you’re a sucker for punishment so feel free to go.”

Matt was utterly surprised at how easy it was to get back, and half-waited for the extra condition. But it never came. He padded through the door and made his way to his regular bed. Foggy was already asleep, but Matt wanted him to know that he made an effort to return. For Foggy. He bent over his friend’s lightly snoring form and whispered, “Foggy?”

Foggy didn’t respond, so Matt poked him lightly. “Foggy?”

Foggy grunted irritably. “What?”

“I’m back.”

“Good for you,” Foggy muttered before rolling over to his other side.

Matt recoiled at Foggy’s seemingly hostile words, and slunk over to his own bed, ruminating on Foggy’s reaction. Was he cross that Matt didn’t return earlier? Or maybe he just didn’t want to be woken. The possibilities churned over and over in his head all night, and by the time the Galaxia started to rise the next morning, Matt hadn’t slept a wink. Matt lay on his back, eyes still closed, listening to Foggy emerge from sleep. There was the familiar morning groan as Foggy rolled over and kicked back the covers, and then another louder groan as he forced himself vertical, slumping on the side of the bed. He sat there for longer than usual, and Matt finally heard a whispered, “Matt?”

Matt didn’t respond. He was still trying to judge Foggy’s tone.

“Matt, I know you’re awake.”

Matt opened his eyes as an acknowledgement that Foggy was right.

“You came back,” Foggy said.

“I said I would.” Matt said tentatively. Foggy didn’t sound mad. “Do you remember? I woke you when I returned.”

“Vaguely. I think it might have just become part of a dream.”

Matt wandered what his dream self had done to deserve Foggy’s harsh words.

“So you’re not mad that I came back after you’d fallen asleep?”

“No. Should I be?”

Matt shrugged. “I think sometimes I worry about nothing.”

“True that. Now can you get up so we can get some breakfast? I need coffee.”

Matt leaped out of bed enthusiastically, and Foggy chuckled. “You might want to have a quick wash and change that outfit of yours, Matt.”

“Why?”

“You reek of sex. I’m guessing you finally slept with Julia.”

Matt blushed.

“Oh come on,” Foggy teased. “I’ve shared a dorm with you for two years now. I know your habits. Plus you two are pretty much made for each other.”

Matt scuttled off and jumped into the baths quickly, scrubbing himself down before getting changed.

When they sat down at breakfast, Matt said, “so aren’t you going to ask me what’s on the other side of the door?”

“No. I don’t really care,” Foggy said with a forced nonchalance.

“That’s a lie.”

“Okay, I’m curious, but I’m also not. Evidently they have slightly more comfortable spots to have sex with one another.”

“Mmm…” Matt agreed.

“Is that it?”

“Basically. There’s more food too. Lots of spices and chilli… but I’d rather be here with you.” Matt noted.

“After the horizontal refreshment though,” Foggy laughed.

Matt raised his eyebrows at Foggy’s _ye olde_ term.

“So what did you get up to?” Matt asked.

“Not much. Chatted to Mop-”

“To _Mop_?”

“You can stop being so surprised. Just because he doesn’t talk to most of the Galaxia doesn’t mean he can’t talk to anyone. He’s actually a really interesting guy. He’s quiet because he hates it here, not because he’s inherently anti-social. If we do come up with a plot to get out of here, there’s no doubt that he has the drive to help us escape.”

“There’s no _if_ , Foggy. We will find a way.”

“So you keep saying, but I’m feeling pretty down over our lack of plans so far, Matt.”

“Give me time,” Matt said a little crossly.

“How many days?”

“We’re two weeks in. We have two and a half months left.”

“You’re still intent on getting back in time for our third year of law school then?”

“I work best to deadlines.”

“Okay,” Foggy said with a shrug. “Whatever works for you. But you need to come up with a plan before I end up a pet.”

 


	8. Superstar profighter

“Pet?” Matt repeated.

“Yeah, if you’re a dud you end up in a box being fondled by aliens.”

Matt looked confused. “Here?”

“Mop did a stint as a pet. Believe me, it’s only a matter of time.”

“No way,” Matt said with a huff of disbelief.

“Don’t be so naïve, Matt. I can’t do any of this gymnastics shit. Why would they fucking keep me around when they can farm me off as an object to be petted?”

“You make costumes. You’re useful.”

“Why do you think the Galaxia are encouraged to make their own costumes? It’s so that they’re occupied, so that their minds are engaged with the whole process of performing. It’s part of the competition, the system.”

“No way,” Matt repeated, shaking his head. “How do you know that Mop’s even telling the truth? Maybe he’s just trying to scare you.”

“I don’t need to hear someone’s heartbeat to know when they’re telling the truth, Matt,” Foggy snapped, irritated that Matt was focussing on whether pets actually existed, rather than the possibility that Foggy might end up as one. “Speaking of truths, did you take the drugs?”

Matt did a double take. “You – you know about that?”

“Mop told me. Unless he’s lying of course,” Foggy said sarcastically.

“He’s not lying,” Matt said slowly. “And no, I didn’t take the drugs. You know me better than that.”

They sat in silence for the rest of the meal, each of them mulling over the new information. Matt realised just how little progress he’d made towards escaping. He’d been slowly working with a three month deadline, picking up bits of information where he could; but the possibility of Foggy being taken away changed everything. Matt eventually excused himself and headed towards the bathrooms, near shaking with anger. He let out a roar of rage as he punched the wall of the bathroom. He felt his knuckles crunch with the force and doubled up with his fist held to his stomach.

As he unfurled, he heard Foggy sarcastically mutter, “well that didn’t fix anything.”

“Foggy,” he breathed, still nursing his now bleeding hand.

Matt stepped aside as Foggy walked over to once of the sinks and turned the tap. “Come here,” he said, holding his hand out to Matt. Matt stood still for a moment, but eventually obeyed. Foggy hesitantly touched Matt’s wrist and when Matt didn’t lash back, Foggy directed Matt’s hand under the flow.

“Do you think you broke something?”

“A bone?”

“Well, I’m not asking about the wall. Although I should point out you’ve managed to put a gaping hole in it.”

“I know,” Matt said with a small smile.

“You planned this?” Foggy said.

Matt screwed up his face. “No. Why would I plan to hurt myself?”

Foggy sighed and looked down at Matt’s hand. “You’re bleeding you know.”

Matt gave a small nod. “There’s a small fracture. Not a big deal. I’ve had worse.”

“I’ve had worse,” Foggy repeated under his breath. He looked at Matt. “Do I want to know?”

“Not really.”

Foggy turned off the tap and grabbed a wad of toilet paper from one of the stalls.

“Not that,” Matt said quickly. “It’ll stick.”

“It’s starting to bleed again though. What about a towel?”

When Matt didn’t respond, Foggy said impatiently, “come on Matt, you’re dripping all over the floor.” He watched Matt tilt his head slightly, listening intently, and ten seconds later, Baz walked through the door.

“Matty, mate,” he scolded. “What are we going to do with you?” He pulled a small bandage out of his back pocket and wrapped it around Matt’s hand.

“Come on,” he directed, “let’s get you out of here.” When they got to the central hallway, Baz said to Foggy, “Fogster, it’s arena time for you, mate. Go.” Matt made to follow, but Baz said, “not you, Matty. You gotta get your paw x-rayed. A damaged star is not a star.”

“Nothing’s broken,” Matt protested. “I don’t need an x-ray. I’ll be fine.”

Baz leaned in and muttered in a warning tone, “I didn’t ask if you were fine. If you want to pull stunts like punching walls, then you don’t get a choice about what happens next.” He looked back at Foggy. “What are you still doing here? _Go,_ before I reassign you!”

Matt mouthed, “go” at Foggy, who immediately scuttled off. As much as he worried about where Matt was being taken to, he didn’t want to risk whatever ‘reassigning’ entailed. That wouldn’t help either of them.

Baz pulled Matt towards the large sliding doors and swiped them open. “Now just in case you think this an opportunity to cause some more mischief, just remember that lovely little sound I designed just for you. I don’t want to use it on you – it looked like it hurt – but I will if I have to. Got it, Matty?”

Matt didn’t respond, so Baz repeated himself, reaching for his pocket threateningly. “ _Got it_?”

“Yes,” Matt said, trying not to break his concentration. He’d created a visualspatial map of the route between the medical centre and the Galaxia quarters when they’d first arrived, but as they walked through the long corridors, he realised this route was different. The corridors were as empty as they were last time they passed through. The complex was huge, but as far as Matt could tell, there was barely anyone around. Perhaps these areas were only used on performance days.

Baz finally pulled Matt into a small room and pressed a button on the wall. Matt surveyed the familiar smelling room: there was a potplant that was growing mould, a shelf of water bottles and a ring of empty cupboards. He could smell the powerful antiseptics and chemical cleaning products from here. They were back at the medical centre.

Baz leaned forward and pressed the button three more times. Finally the glass door slid open, bringing with it a wave of chemical smells. “Baz! What have I told you about the button?”

Baz lazily said, “Hey Silv.”

“What is this?” she said grabbing Matt’s sore hand suddenly, so that he flinched.

Baz chuckled. “Got a bit of a temper this one, Silv.”

“Let me guess…” she said, examining Matt’s hand. “You punched a solid object?”

“Got it in one. You’re a genius,” Baz gushed.

“In here,” she ordered, walking through the sliding door and shutting it behind them. They walked briskly through a narrow corridor. Matt could hear people talking in some of the rooms. There were a few machines beeping on the other side of a sliding door at the far end, and someone asked if they could get help using the bathroom. The voice sounded old and withered, but he hadn’t met a single elderly person since he arrived. The Galaxia were all in their late teens to mid-30s. Maybe Foggy was right – maybe there was a next step for aging Galaxia. If that person was as old as their voice suggested, how long had this circus been in existence? He started to think through the practicalities. The complex relied on advanced technology – swipe cards, moving arenas, automated feeding – that wouldn’t have existed even five years ago. And to build something in the Australian desert and stock it with food, water, electricity, you name it, would have been impossible not long ago.

“In here,” Sylvia said, interrupting Matt’s thoughts.

Matt could feel the radiation from the x-ray machine before he’d even walked through the door. He shuddered. Matt was highly sensitive to any kind of radiation, and avoided x-rays like the plague.

“Nothing’s broken,” Matt said to Sylvia, trying to avoid being scanned.

“Best to be sure,” she said.

There was a technician already in the room, who directed Matt to the machine. “Put your hand here, fingers spread like this.” The technician demonstrated, evidently not realising Matt was blind. Matt tried to imitate what he thought the man was doing, but got it wrong and the technician grumpily spread Matt’s fingers for him, making Matt wince in pain.

“Careful,” Baz growled. “If you damage this one there’ll be hell to pay. Oh and he’s blind, you fuck-wit.”

“No need for that language, Baz,” Sylvia admonished. “Behave, or else you can leave.”

“And leave you with my superstar pro-fighter? I think not,” Baz replied.

“I’ll meet you outside when you’re done then,” she said, leaving the room.

Baz and the technician went into a protective booth while the x-ray was taken, and Matt’s hand was rearranged for a second picture.

“Come on, Matty,” Baz sang as he led Matt out the room, tightly gripping Matt’s arm. Matt could think of dozens of ways he could maim or even kill Baz with only one or two moves. One foot out, trip him, chop to the throat; pull him over the shoulder, knee to solar plexus; elbow in stomach, kick to the liver… He scanned the area for weapons, but the hallway was empty. If he could get to the room that he woke up in all those weeks ago, he could probably grab something from there. But if he didn’t make it, what would happen to Foggy? Foggy’s words ran through his head, “ _if you’re a dud you end up in a box being fondled by aliens_.” He couldn’t risk it. Yet.

Instead, he listened intently, trying to gather as much information as possible. “That’s your listening face, innit?” Baz said, looking at him. “Well, I can fix that.” He pulled some earplugs from his pocket, and ordered Matt, “stay still,” holding Matt’s head in a vice-like grip while he shoved the pieces of foam into Matt’s ears. “Now, I know you can still hear me, which means you can still hear that special tune…”

Matt experienced a flash of uncontrolled rage and kicked out, pulling Baz to the floor, but as Matt was about to stomp on his face, Baz deftly rolled aside, and Matt felt a stab to his leg. A couple of seconds later he dropped to the floor unconscious.

* * *

 

Matt emerged from the fog of tranquilisers, dizzy and disoriented. “You gonna do that again?” Baz said as he opened his eyes. Matt let out a small moan. He was lying on a guerney, monitors stuck to his chest. He lifted his arm, expecting it to be tethered to the bed like last time, but it was unrestrained. He felt a wave of nausea, and Baz moved fast enough to hold a bag under Matt’s mouth while he threw up.

“There go the breakfast eggs,” Baz joked. Matt spat into the bag a few times, before lying back down with a groan. Baz handed Matt a bottle of water, and Matt clumsily opened it with his good hand. Someone had applied a fresh bandage to his injured hand, and one of his fingers was splinted. “Just a fracture,” Baz said, patting Matt on the shoulder. “Keep that on for a couple of days and then you’ll be back to new.”

Matt knew that’s not really how fractures worked, but it was not the time to argue. His head ached and he felt the pull of steri-strips on his forehead. He ran his fingers over the tape, feeling a distinct lump underneath.

“Fell on your head, ya duffer,” Baz said with a chuckle. “You won’t be doing that again, will ya.”

Matt just shut his eyes in response – a less than subtle ‘I’m not listening’ move.

Once Matt regained some of his colour, Baz said, “ready to join the flock again?”

Matt nodded. He had no idea how long he’d been out, but he wanted to get back to Foggy, stat.

“Sylv!” he yelled, and she puffed through the door.

“What did I say about yelling?”

“Don’t. But how else am I going to get your attention? Anyhoo, can I unstick Matty? He’s probably missing his Foggy friend.”

“As long as you promise not to render him unconscious again today.”

“Well that part’s up to him,” Baz retorted, as Sylvia started pulling the electrodes off Matt’s chest.

“And make sure you monitor him for signs of concussion,” she added as she left the room.

Baz whispered to Matt, “was the vomiting because of the drugs or the concussion?”

“I don’t know,” Matt said, irritated. “I’m not a medical professional.”

“Let’s not tell Sylv. She tends to overreact. I’ll get them to keep digital eyes on you instead. Don’t die,” he said pointedly.

Baz led the still drowsy Matt back to the Galaxia quarters, ordering him to “go lie down _without any detours_.” Matt slowly wandered to his bed, flopping down on the soft blankets. He rolled onto his stomach and reached under the bed for his father’s jacket, rubbing the fibres between his fingers. “I tried,” Matt whispered. “I’m trying. I got back up.”

Foggy found Matt asleep in the same position hours later. Tears streamed down Foggy’s face as he hugged a still dopey Matt. “I thought you weren’t coming back,” he sobbed.

“I’ll always come back, Foggy,” Matt said weakly, trying not to cry in response.

“You were gone all day. I thought maybe they’d made you a pet.

Matt gave a wet huff, rubbing his eyes to disguise the tears. “I don’t think they’d do that. The way they talk… I don’t know. I just get the feeling-” Matt petered off. He had no idea what he was talking about. Nothing about this place was logical. He couldn’t be sure of anything. But Foggy didn’t need to know that.

“Did they fix your hand?”

“Amongst other things,” Matt said, shifting on the bed so that Foggy could sit down next to him.

“That sounds ominous.”

Matt gave Foggy a wan smile.

“You going to tell me what happened to your head?”

Matt closed his eyes. “Maybe later.”

Foggy lay down next to Matt and they lay there in contemplative silence until Foggy realised it was mealtime.

“Did you eat lunch?”

“No, and I lost breakfast.”

“Also a story for later?”

Matt nodded.

“Okay, let’s get some food in you,” Foggy said, standing up and pulling Matt to his feet by his good hand.

 


	9. Relax

With Matt’s hand injured, Baz reassigned Julia to another partner for the upcoming performance. Julia scowled as she walked away with Mauro, a young and solid-looking man with an impressive monobrow.

“Matty, go teach Fogmeister how to do something,” Baz ordered. Matt and Foggy tried hard not to look too excited.

Before they walked away, Baz grabbed Matt’s still-painful hand. “And lest you think it’s a reward for injuring yourself, let me tell you, Matty, it’s merely a reminder of what you’ll lose if you pull a stunt like that again. Got it?”

When Matt didn’t respond straight away, Baz gave his swollen hand a small squeeze and Matt choked out a reluctant “yes.”

“Excellent,” he beamed, letting go of Matt and rubbing his hands together. “Now go play, my little ones.” He made a shooing motion just to complete the parody.

The friends walked as far away from Baz as possible, and Matt asked Foggy to tell him what skills he’d learned so far. “You should ask Mop,” Foggy said brightly, looking over at the lone figure warming up.

Matt hesitated, not wanting to share Foggy with anyone, least of all Mop.

“He won’t bite, Matt. Come on.” Foggy led Matt over to Mop, who kept stretching as if they weren’t there.

“Can we join you?” Foggy asked, as if he’d not been working with Mop for two weeks straight.

Mop shrugged. “If you want.” Mop paused his warm-up to stare at Matt, looking from his face to his bandaged hand to Foggy. Foggy gave him a half-hopeful, half-pleading look.

Foggy felt torn all morning. He’d been quite happy following Mop’s decidedly undemanding instructions up till now, but Matt had quite a different idea about what, why and how Foggy should learn. It was a pace that far outstripped not only Foggy’s abilities, but also his ambitions.

After lunch, Matt only got more manic in his tutorial, as if he was unleashing the energy that he would have otherwise spent flipping around the place. Foggy eventually slumped on the ground in protest.

“Come on, Foggy. Get up.”

“No. I’m having a rest. I’ve been leaping around at your command all day and I’m tired. I need a rest.”

“Come on, Fog. Get up!”

Foggy kicked out playfully, and Matt jumped over his foot.

“That’s cheating,” Foggy grumbled. “You could have given me that small kick in exchange for all your abuse.”

“I’m not abusing you,” Matt said indignantly. “You can rest later.”

Foggy lay down with a sound of exasperation. “This is how much I’m not going to get up until I’m ready,” he said, spread eagled on the floor.

“Okay. Ten minutes and then we’re back at it,” Matt ordered.

“Twenty,” Foggy argued.

“Fifteen.”

“Twenty-five.”

“You’re meant to compromise when you’re bargaining, not make your demands more extreme,” Matt pointed out.

“Twenty.”

Matt sighed. “Eighteen.”

“Nineteen,” Foggy countered once again.

“Fine,” Matt said, exasperated. “Nineteen.”

Foggy fist pumped in triumph. “See what I did there?”

“Yeah, yeah, you won by being ridiculous,” Matt said with a hint of a smile. “But I’m keeping time.”

“You’re going to count the minutes?” Foggy said incredulously.

“How else are we going to know when nineteen minutes is up?”

“Guess?”

“If we were going to guess, why did you go to such lengths to bargain down to the minute?”

Foggy shrugged. “For sport?”

Matt snorted.

Foggy patted the space beside him. “Now are you going to join me on this wonderfully soft floor? You can even pretend to be exercising if you feel guilty about it. See?” Foggy lifted a leg in the air, pointing his toe, and then the other one, singing as he kicked.

“That’s probably good for your stomach muscles,” Matt pointed out.

“Oh.” Foggy let his legs hit the floor. “Can’t have any of that in the rest period.” 

* * *

 

Foggy’s rest period was institutionalised by the second day. “Nineteen minutes, by law,” he announced mid-afternoon.

Matt sat next to him, knowing full well that arguing was not going to change Foggy’s mind.

On day three, Mop joined them for the rest break. He didn’t say anything. He just sat down a couple of feet from the pair for the designated nineteen minutes (as counted by Matt), and resumed the workout straight away.

On day four, two more Galaxia joined the rest group, chatting away to Matt and Foggy while Matt tapped his fingers on his leg to keep a record of time.

On day five, Baz put a stop to it.

“It was good while it lasted,” Foggy said, pretending to do some kind of stretching thing or whatever. “I’ll just have to do active resting instead.”

“Active resting?” Matt snorted, pausing from his sit-ups.

“Yeah, what I’m doing now.” He waved his arms around dramatically. “Looks like I’m being productive when in actual fact I’m not.”

“I don’t think you’re fooling anyone but yourself, Foggy.”

“How’s your finger?” Foggy said, changing the subject.

“It’s okay. I don’t think it’d withstand much handstanding though,” Matt replied, wriggling his fingers. Baz had declared the splint “no longer necessary,” the previous day and had confiscated it. Matt didn’t really think it necessary to begin with, so he wasn’t perturbed. After all, he’d broken multiple fingers during his training with Stick and none of them had ever been splinted. He’d be fine.

“Maybe you should teach me how to do a headstand then,” Foggy offered.

“Really?” Matt said excitedly with a broad grin. “I thought you didn’t want to.”

“I’m doing it for that face, Matt. I’m self-sacrificial to the bone.”

Matt grinned even wider, and started walking Foggy through the steps.

 

That evening, Foggy self-sacrificed once again when he agreed to climb up to a higher rope nest in the rec room. Foggy had successfully broken through the barrier of fear on the lowest net, and it was time for the next test of bravery (in Matt’s opinion).

Matt followed Foggy from behind, reassuring him with kind words that in reality did little for the fear that set in a couple of feet above their usual net nest. Foggy shook on the small rope ladder as he looked down and then back up at the target nest that was still a good six feet away.

The ladder ended just below the nest, which meant that Foggy had to swing the ladder over to a web-like structure that ran up past the nest, grab the web, climb a little bit further and then crawl sideways onto the nest. They’d gone over the strategy multiple times before Foggy was willing to give it a go, but it seemed a lot simpler when he on the ground.

Matt could sense Foggy’s tension as he reached the top of the ladder. “Now swing left,” Matt instructed.

“Yeah, I know,” Foggy snapped.

“Do you want me to pull the ladder over? I can get up to the section beside you and swing on it.”

“No, Matt, I don’t want your movements wobbling the ladder.”

Matt heard the warning tone in Foggy’s voice and decided to give him some space.

Foggy finally swung onto the web with a small shriek of fear. He clung on to the rope, knuckles turning white with the tension. Matt struggled to stay silent, wanting to offer encouraging words, but again, decided to give Foggy time. Eventually, Foggy took a nervous, shaking step up the web, one step every twenty seconds or so until he got to the target nest.

“That’s it. I’m here forever. Never getting down,” Foggy declared.

“Uh huh…” Matt said sarcastically. “And what happens when you get hungry?”

“That’s simple. You’ll bring the food up here like a mother bird to its baby.”

“Am I also expected to eat it and then regurgitate it into your mouth like a mother bird?”

“Ew!” Foggy retched dramatically.

Matt jumped up and clung onto the rope above the net, swinging his feet up and over and dangling upside down.

“Show-off,” Foggy muttered.

“Want me to show off?” Matt said with a grin, swinging up and catching another rope, and then another and another. He walked deftly along a horizontal rope, perfectly balanced. Foggy rolled his eyes, but admired Matt’s confidence and gracefulness. Without warning, Matt jumped off the tightrope, somersaulting mid-air and landing in the net next to Foggy.

“Argh! You could have broken the net and sent us both plummeting to the ground. Well, not you. You would’ve caught a rope on the way down – although not until after you’d performed a double somersault twist. I, on the other hand, would most certainly die.”

“I’d catch you,” Matt said seriously. “Besides, this rope is not going to break. It’s super strong.”

“Because you can sense that with your magic whatevers,” Foggy muttered sarcastically.

“Yeah,” Matt said flatly.

Foggy wasn’t lying when he stated his intention to stay in the nest forever. True, he hadn’t really thought it out, but fear isn’t always logical. After some initial coaxing, Matt finally offered to swing Foggy over his shoulder and carry him down that way. The idea of being carried down in a humiliating Fireman’s Carry gave Foggy the push he needed.

“You know, the easiest way down is to lean over the nest, grab this rope here” -Matt pointed to a rope just below the nest – “and swing down to the lower nest. It’s actually safer than the way we came up.”

Foggy paled. Safer. Saf _er._ He looked from the web to the rope, assessing the two routes.

In the silence, Matt reminded him, “or I could carry you.”

It had the desired effect. Foggy crawled over to the edge of the nest and leaned over, grabbing the rope that Matt pulled over to Foggy’s hands.

“You’ll catch me, you said?” Foggy said in a small voice.

“Of course.”

“Here goes,” Foggy muttered, wiggling towards the edge while gripping the rope. He let out a strangled moan as he launched himself over the edge, missing the first swing and shrieking as it swung back and away from the lower nest.

“As you swing forward again, let go,” Matt called, a little worried. He jumped onto a lower rope so that he could be closer to Foggy. But Foggy still didn’t let go. “You need to release while you still have the momentum, Foggy. Otherwise you’ll have to push back into a swing yourself.”

Foggy’s fingers stung with the effort of clinging on. Why did he agree to visit the upper nest again? On the fourth swing, Foggy finally released at just the right moment, landing in a crumpled heap in the lower nest.

“Thank fuck,” he breathed.

“And now over the edge as normal,” Matt said, grinning.

“Give me a second, enthusiastic puppy. I’m shaking like a leaf.” Foggy breathed deeply for a minute. “Never again, Matt,” he said shaking his head. “Never again.”

“You said that with this nest, and look how comfortable you are here now.”

“I’m not comfortable. It’s relative,” Foggy pointed out.

Matt walked along the taut rope that edged the lower nest, and pretended to lose balance, falling onto the floor in a graceful roll. “I could always teach you how to fall,” he said, looking expectantly at Foggy, hands on hips.

Foggy huffed and took that as his cue to flip onto the ground. Matt put his hand on Foggy’s shaking shoulder, holding him steady once again.

“How’s your hand after that?” Foggy asked, still puffing a little.

“Fine.” Matt stretched his fingers out, testing the range of movement. “I mostly held on with my left hand just in case. But it seems to have repaired itself pretty well.”

“Healing powers?”

“No, but I’ve meditated every morning – before you’ve woken up,” he added. “It helps with healing.”

“Okay, mystic man. Let’s go to bed. Maybe you could teach me that meditation trick some time. Just in case, y’know…”

* * *

 

The two friends sat together once again for that week’s performance. Foggy was thrilled that he had his friend back, but Matt had more complex feelings. He didn’t want to perform per se, but there was some part of him that longed to participate.

Once again, Foggy failed to spot any tentacles, limbs or bulging eyes in the darkness, and Matt couldn’t hear any translation this time either. Perhaps they’d imagined it, willing it to be true and fooling their brains into seeing and hearing things that didn’t exist.

Julia didn’t seem to enjoy her performance nearly as much this week. Her partner was strong, but wasn’t as graceful as Matt. More importantly, Julia and Mauro lacked the chemistry that was so evident between her and Matt.

Clint and Yasmin performed a variation on their bow and arrow performance, but again, it wasn’t quite as impressive without Matt throwing himself at the moving arrow and catching it each time.

Elektra was paired up with a scared-looking boy. He was not scared of the complex aerials, but rather the woman herself. It showed. Baz looked at them critically throughout, no doubt eager to reassign the mismatched pair.

Afterwards, Matt looked a little dismal as Julia disappeared through the performers-only door.

“You’ll probably get to sleep with her again next week,” Foggy whispered facetiously.

Matt looked shocked at Foggy’s deduction, and then broke into a small smile. “How did you know?”

“I just know these things,” Foggy laughed. “You can do triple backflips, fight like a ninja and hear electrical circuits; I can tell when you want to have sex with someone. We all have our talents.”

* * *

 

Matt and Foggy’s happy pairing came to an abrupt end the next day when Baz ordered Matt and Julia to work together once more.

At the announcement, Foggy gave a small wave to Mop. As much as he enjoyed hanging out with Matt, Foggy was eager to return to Mop’s relatively relaxing pace.

Baz slapped Matt affectionately on the shoulder. “Matty, I know you’re comfortable on the ropes. Teach Jules some tricks. She’s been on the floor long enough. Gotta have a challenge.”

“But I don’t do aerials,” Julia protested. “I’m blind.”

“Which means you can’t see the floor,” Baz said simply. “You don’t see Matty using that excuse.” Matt shifted uncomfortably on the spot. He didn’t enjoy being used to justify putting Julia in danger. Baz saw Matt’s expression of indignation and immediately changed his tone. “Come on Jules, baby. You’re going to be great. You and Matty are going to be galactic stars!”

No amount of arguing would make Baz back down. Eventually, Baz got sick of the pair’s excuses and walked away, although not before he issued one of his trademarked thinly veiled threats.

Matt put his hand on Julia’s shoulder. “Why don’t we warm up a bit and then try something simple?”

“You don’t get it, Matt,” she whispered so that only he could hear. “I’m not scared of heights or aerials. I can do all that. I can do it well. I just don’t want _them_ to know that. Them not knowing was the one thing I could control, the one thing that was mine.” After a pause, she added, “are you mad?”

“Why would I be mad?”

“Because I didn’t tell you.”

“Everyone has secrets,” Matt said knowingly. “I’m just glad that you’re less likely to get hurt if you’re adept at heights.”

“Thanks.”

The Galaxia were secretly impressed with Julia and Matt’s first attempt at an aerial routine. Over the course of the week, as Matt’s hand got better and they tried out increasingly complicated routines, the Galaxia would often stop and watch the pair in awe. Baz was thrilled, of course, but not everyone was. Baz’s usual favourites, Sam and Natasha, were distinctly resentful of the competition.

Sam and Natasha’s bullying was subtle – there was the odd snipe at Foggy and a few rude comments about the pair’s blindness or red hair. It was juvenile, but it worried Matt. He wanted everyone’s help when the time came to escape. He didn’t want enemies.

On the morning of that week’s performance, Natasha teased Matt about his costume. He responded by abandoning his costume alteration and scaling the rope structure in the rec room.

Eventually, Foggy went in search of Matt and found him still up in the gods, swinging on a single rope while chatting to Elektra. All of a sudden Elektra kicked him hard in the stomach and Matt let go of the rope in shock, falling ten feet until he caught another rope. Foggy assumed Matt would climb down and away from the evidently unhinged woman, but instead, he quickly scrambled back up for more.

Foggy noticed that he was not the only one staring up at the pair. Baz was standing near the doorway, arms crossed, looking thrilled with their antics. Baz’s enthusiasm could not possibly be a good thing, Foggy thought.

Foggy turned his attention back towards the ceiling just in time to see Matt launch himself at Elektra, pulling her off the ropes before plummeting towards the ground. At the last moment, Matt grabbed a rope with one hand and pulled them both sideways, landing in the lowest nest. Elektra almost immediately threw herself onto Matt and started kissing him, and it took Matt far too long to push her away, suggesting that the attraction might well be mutual.

Matt disentangled himself and sat up, panting slightly. “Foggy,” he breathed, finally recognising his friend’s heartbeat below.

“The paintbrush and I are waiting for your face down here,” Foggy said, eyebrows raised at Matt’s smug nonchalance.

“Sure.” Matt jumped off the nest, landing with a light thud next to Foggy.

“You scare me sometimes,” Foggy said, pulling Matt towards the craft room.

As Foggy applied the red facepaint, he tried to grill Matt on Elektra, but Matt wasn’t playing. “I’ll ruin your good work if I speak,” he said as an excuse. They continued in silence.

After Foggy had applied the finishing touches to Matt’s lips, he said, “now don’t go kissing anyone until after the show, okay?”

“I won’t,” Matt replied with a cheeky grin.

Foggy packed away the paint, and they wandered into the rec room to wait for the call to the arena.

“One day you’ll be able to perform, Foggy. I know it,” Matt said encouragingly.

Foggy sat down on the spongy floor and said, “look, Matt-”

“Why are you on the floor?” Matt interrupted.

“It’s symbolic.”

“Of what?”

“Okay, well it’s so that you listen to me.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t want to learn how to do backflips or cartwheels or any of that shit you can do amazingly well. That’s your thing. It’s not mine. I just need to not end up as a pet before we can - y’know,” Foggy said, not wanting to use the word escape just in case they were overheard (not that it was terribly cryptic).

“But the more you learn, the less likely it is that you’ll end up as a pet.”

“There are some people in the world who are great at tennis, others who are amazing singers, or footballers, or scientists, or gymnastics… I am not good at any of those things.”

“Neither was I when I was younger, but I learned,” Matt argued.

“Yeah, after getting some kind of magic substance spilled on you.”

“It wasn’t magic,” Matt said indignantly. “And I didn’t wake up cartwheeling. I had to learn that.”

“And I think it’s wonderful that you learned all those things. But I can’t, so stop pushing me.”

“I wish you’d fucking try, Foggy. All this whingeing about me being able to do somersaults and you won’t even try. I’m doing everything I can to get us out of here, and what are you doing? Huh? I don’t see you testing wall strength, or trying to access forbidden areas. You just sit there with Mop sharing stories and waiting for me to somehow magically come up with the solution. I’m not magic, Foggy.”

“Well, maybe if you shared some of that information, instead of being all secretive, I might be able to help,” Foggy argued back. “You have this bizarre idea that only you can save us, but you haven’t even _tried_ collaborating. You got me into this mess in the first place - the least you can do is work with me to escape.”

Matt let out a frustrated choking sound and turned on his heels, threading his way through the group of waiting Galaxia until he found Julia.

“What’s wrong?” she said, sensing Matt’s jitteriness.

“Nothing,” He lied. “Just nervous, that’s all.”

“You’ll be fine,” she reassured him, patting his feather-covered arm.

Matt and Julia’s aerial performance was nail-bitingly fast and perfectly executed (of course). Matt was still jittery afterwards, but this time with endorphins. He didn’t even acknowledge Foggy before making his way to the post-performance area. Foggy’s words had hit him where it hurt and he didn’t have the guts to talk it out.

Foggy was stunned. He expected Matt to get all the rage out of him during the performance, and at _least_ say hi afterwards. Dejected, Foggy schlepped to the baths with Mop, Thuy and a few of the other Galaxia that he’d come to know as the regularly excluded ones. If nothing else, at least the baths were peaceful and quiet on the performance evenings. 

* * *

 

Despite Mop’s vow to block all attempts at friendship, Foggy had somehow wheedled his way in. As Matt had pointed out a few weeks earlier, Foggy had a way of making people feel comfortable around him. He was non-threatening, kind and warm. What’s more, his friendship with Matt had also taught him the art of persistence.

Using similar methods, Foggy finally convinced Mop to share details of his life pre-capture. While they were sewing small felt animals in the craft room, Foggy mentioned that he and Matt had a small argument earlier that day, adding miserably that Matt didn’t even speak to him post-performance.

“Conflict is at our core,” Mop said quietly. “Just because you fight with someone, it doesn’t mean that you don’t love them. Matt is your family. You’ll make up.”

“We’re friends, not brothers.”

“I know. But you’re family still.”

Foggy seemed confused so Mop told him about his ‘family.’ Mop stressed that while he was technically an orphan and had been so since the age of ten, he grew up in a community where family had a far broader definition than just blood relations. He explained that when his parents died, he and his siblings were taken in by his parents’ friends. “We lived together in large groups, so I didn’t belong to any one family – I belonged to them all, and they belonged to me.”

“Do you mean like in a massive sharehouse?”

“Sometimes. My people move around a lot,” Mop stressed. “We don’t own property and don’t aspire to. Why would you want to stay in one place when the whole world is waiting for you to explore?”

When he turned seventeen, Mop decided to leave the families who had brought him up as a son and brother and move to a larger city. He was a gifted performer and started making good money busking on the streets. He lived with friends and relatives of the families he grew up with, moving around as he pleased and when he pleased. He was never lonely, rarely hungry, and generally enjoyed life.

“One day I was performing, and this man started taking photos of me. Many people took photos of me, but this man was taking a _lot_ of photos. He stuck around till I’d finished up for the day and stuck a wad of notes in my hat – more than I usually got in a month! He said he was a journalist and he wanted to interview me for an article he was writing on street performers. I thought it was funny that he chose me – I didn’t dress fancy or anything. But he seemed interested in my background and was friendly and nice. Plus he said he’d pay me, so I thought why not.”

“First off he tried to get me to come to his hotel for the interview, but I said no – I’m not stupid you know,” he said defensively, and Foggy gave him a nod to say ‘I know.’

“So he suggested a café. It was a bit out of the way, but it was still in a public space, so I figured he probably wouldn’t try anything dodgy there.”

Foggy was getting increasingly anxious as the story developed. He knew the ending of course, but the story still had him on edge.

“I met him there the next day and we had a chat about my background, my family, my training as an acrobat. It was nice talking to someone about all this, you know. When we finished up, he gave me an envelope of cash and a chocolate in the shape of a koala. He said it was Australian. It was the end of the day and I was hungry, so I ate it. I wish I hadn’t. I mean, he probably would have drugged me another way, but it makes it worse, you know, the fact that I willingly ate it.”

“It was Baz,” Foggy said quietly.

“Yeah, he goes out every once in awhile. Comes back with a group of new performers. Sometimes they work out, sometimes they don’t.”

“Do I want to know what happens to the ones that don’t work out?”

“Well, sometimes we end up as pets, as you know. I don’t know if people permanently end up as pets or whether they go somewhere else. We only know about the people who are temporarily assigned as pets. Or those who die.”

“Die?”

“Yeah, the aliens get a real kick out of death.”

Foggy put his face in his hands and muttered “fuck this.”

“So how were you taken?” Mop asked.

Foggy dropped his hands and looked at him as if to say _isn’t that enough for tonight?_ But Mop had an expectant look on his face, so Foggy figured it was only fair to share alike. “We got the poisoned chocolate treatment as well,” Foggy said. He recounted the whole story, and afterwards Mop said, “so you have people who will miss you too.”

Foggy nodded his head sadly.

Mop put his sewing down and said, “the thing that really pisses me off is there’s an assumption that orphan equals no one cares. I know you’re not an orphan of course, but Matt is. And he’s got you and you have him. You see, you don’t have to share blood to be family. Not really. Sometimes your closest friends make the best family because you know the bond is by choice, not blood. You and Matt are not blood related, but you’re closer than anyone I know. You’re lucky to have a friendship like that.”

“Yes, I am.” Foggy felt like an idiot for saying all those things earlier to Matt. All he wanted was Matt by his side. But Julia probably had that privilege now.

* * *

 

Foggy had been right about Matt’s yearnings for Julia. As soon as the couple had slipped through to the post-performance area, they quickly washed all the facepaint off and headed to the bedroom, Julia stopping briefly to get a dose of Soma.

“Here,” she said, snapping the pill in half and offering it to Matt. Matt shook his head. “No, I want a clear head.”

“What are you talking about?” Julia was getting sick of Matt’s high and mightiness. “Clear head? Do you really think you have a clear head now? In here?”

She pushed him onto the bed, and straddling him, pressed the pill against his lips. “Are you sure? I’ll put it away for later otherwise.”

Matt wasn’t sure. He really wasn’t. The worst thing was that he knew Foggy would be pissed off if he succumbed, and that only made him want to take it just to spite Foggy. It was a strange reasoning - even Matt knew that. After a moment’s hesitation, he poked out his tongue, and Julia pressed the half tablet into his mouth.

As he swallowed, he had a moment of panic. He’d never even smoked pot before, let alone taken a substance of dubious origin and effect.

“You’ll be fine,” Julia said, massaging his chest. “I saw it. You’re happy.”

“You knew I’d take it?” Matt said incredulously. “You never said.”

“I never do - you know that. I don’t want others to change things. Precognition can get messy.” She combed her fingers through his hair, and with her other hand gently cupped her hand under his chin, giving him a light kiss on the lips. “But you seemed nervous. I just wanted to comfort you with the knowledge that everything’s going to be okay.” She kissed him again. “Relax,” she whispered.

It wasn’t long until the drug started to take effect. His skin tingled slightly and every point of contact with Julia was enhanced even more. There was no worry, no concern, no past, no future… just the two of them wrapped in a cocoon of euphoria.

And so the night passed with Foggy lying awake, waiting, hoping desperately that his friend would once again return early, while Matt slipped into a state of hedonistic disengagement, going to a place where Foggy didn’t even enter his consciousness.

 


	10. Team Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a moment I love in Daredevil: The Man Without Fear #3 (1993) where Matt and Elektra are soaring through the air at Fogwell's. It's currently my profile picture. I imagined that scene when I wrote this chapter.

 

Matt’s feeling of vague detachment continued into the next day, so that when he and the other performers returned to the main area, he felt quite numb. Foggy ran up to him and wrapped his arms around his torso, apologising over and over. Matt stumbled back, confused and somewhat overwhelmed.

“What’s wrong?” Foggy said, stepping back.

“Nothing,” Matt said woodenly.

“You’re acting weird.”

“You just threw yourself at me. I’m fairly sure I’m not the weird one.”

“I missed you,” Foggy muttered.

Silence.

“Huh,” Foggy said eventually. “I guess it was a one way thing then.” Foggy didn’t actually believe this could be so – he was fishing, wanting Matt to refute the statement.

Instead, in an emotionless voice, Matt said, “I need to speak to Elektra,” and walked away from his bewildered friend.

Foggy watched Matt wander over to Elektra, who immediately animated in his presence. Foggy couldn’t work out what they were discussing, but whatever it was, Elektra seemed awfully keen. They chatted until it was time to enter the arena for yet another week’s practice.

Baz proposed an unexpected change to the headliners. Julia was to join Sam and Natasha in the gods and Matt and Elektra were to pair up. Sam and Natasha were furious with the change, and Julia looked absolutely horrified, seeking out Matt for support before arguing with Baz that she simply couldn’t go that high.

“Nonsense, Jules baby. You picked up the satellite level like a pro. You can do anything. I know you can.” He ruffled her hair affectionately.

“Why not give her a bit more time to practice on the lower level?” Matt suggested. Julia didn’t look too pleased with Matt’s proposal. She didn’t just want a delay – she didn’t want to do it at all.

“Mmm… no, you’ll be great up there,” Baz said, barely listening. He wandered off to another group before they could argue the point further.

Elektra approached and hooked her arm into Matt’s. Julia gave Elektra a death glare before slinking away to join the hostile-looking Natasha and Sam.

“Stick would be so proud. His two protégés performing in captivity together…” Elektra said sarcastically.

“Hmm… he’d probably kill Baz without a second thought,” Matt mused.

Elektra smiled. “I wish.”

“You want to,” Matt said, turning to Elektra.

“Of course,” she said, but this time telepathically. “And you want to too. I know you.”

Matt turned away. He shouldn’t have thoughts like that, even if they were towards sociopathic kidnappers.

Elektra spoke audibly once more. “So what are we going to do?”

“You want to plan our escape now?” Matt said in a whisper.

“No, you idiot. Up there.” She pointed at the ropes.

Matt sighed. “What would happen if we flat out refused?”

“They’ll kill us. Or worse, make us caged objects,” she said, switching to back to telepathy. Matt raised one eyebrow at what he thought was a massive overstatement. “I’m serious, Matthew. They aren’t afraid to kill. And it’s pretty hard to plot a coordinated escape from a single person cage.”

“Let’s see what you can do then,” Matt said, setting a challenge like no other. The competition was on.

While Matt and Julia had performed as if in harmony, peaceful, coordinated and gentle, Matt and Elektra performed as if they were in battle, competing rather than operating together. And yet it worked. They were a fiery and exciting pair, both trained as children to fight dirty yet smart, to swallow all fear, to channel anger into productive energy, and take a ridiculous amount of pain along the way.

At lunch, Foggy joined Mop at the corner table, while Matt sat with Elektra and two other women originally from Greece, Ariana and Sabina. It was the first time Matt and Foggy had sat apart since they arrived. To anyone who cared to look at the corner table, it was obvious that Foggy was incredibly miserable. He spent lunch jealously watching Matt laugh with the three women across the room. Mop didn’t comment, preferring to stay out of Galaxia politics, but at one point he made the unusual move of trying to engage Foggy in conversation just to make him feel better.

When a similar thing happened at dinner, Foggy had had enough. He accosted Matt afterwards, demanding to know why his best friend had abandoned him.

“You sat with Mop in the first place,” Matt argued. “You didn’t even speak to me first. Am I just supposed to follow?”

“Yeah,” Foggy said. “We always eat together.”

“Maybe I didn’t want to sit with Mop the moper. I don’t need be brought down at the moment.”

“I never thought you’d stoop that low as to become a bully, Matt.”

“What? I’m not bullying anyone.”

“You’re using the name used to bully Mop. Ergo, bullying.” Foggy crossed his arms just to emphasise the point.

“I’m not saying it to his face.”

“Don’t use excuses. You know full well that by normalising the name, you’re just as bad as the others.”

“If you have a problem with that, go hang out with him instead,” Matt said childishly. “Me, I just wanted to meet some other people and find out what people’s fighting strengths are.”

“Oh, so it’s all about the supposed escape now is it?” Foggy hissed.

“Well someone has to work on it.”

“This again?”

“Yeah, this again.” Matt started bouncing on his toes like he did when he had excess energy – in this case, energy from pent up frustration and anger.

“What happened in there?” Foggy pointed towards the post-performance rooms. “What happened last night that turned you all frosty? Did you take that drug?”

“I don’t need your judgment right now, Foggy,” Matt snapped. He took a running jump at the rope structure and scaled it right to the top.

“Really mature, Matt,” Foggy muttered sarcastically before wandering into the craft room to work on, well, whatever he could find to distract him.

 

Matt took quite a few days to thaw. Four days after the performance, Matt surprised Foggy by wandering up from behind and linking arms unannounced. Foggy hesitated, wanting to demand an explanation for the sudden change in affection, but thought better of it. The last thing he wanted right now was to reignite the fight, particularly as Matt tended to get quite anxious and flighty whenever things like emotions and relationships were discussed.

It also meant that Foggy agreed to climb up to the higher nest once again just to please Matt (although he slightly hated himself all the while for being such a pushover). Just as Matt had predicted, it was easier the second time round, and it was almost worth it just to lie next to Matt for the evening, mostly in silence but not alone.

As if making amends, Matt started sharing some of the plans he and Elektra were developing. It involved a complicated series of distractions, handmade weapons, targeted destruction of cameras and security systems, and a lot of muscle. Foggy listened in silence, impressed at Matt’s ambition. However, he also noticed that within these grand plans, Foggy had no defined role just yet. Did Matt really think he was that useless?

Matt and Elektra also seemed to be systematically testing the compound’s systems, some of the tests subtle, others not so much. The following evening, Matt whispered to Foggy, “whatever happens next, don’t worry. But maybe go chat to Mop for a bit.” Foggy looked at him confused, but joined Mop on the other side of the room without question. Minutes later, Elektra snuck up from behind Matt and threw herself at his back. He reacted instantly, throwing her over his shoulder and onto the floor. Without missing a beat, she jumped up and ran at him again, dodging Matt’s fist three times and kicking him in his side. He doubled up in pain and she immediately threw a punch at his head, but Matt was feinting and he ducked, kicking her feet out from beneath her. She rolled just out of his reach, and with a growl of rage, Matt launched himself at her once again. Baz strolled in, nonchalant, and called out, “guys, could you wait until after the performance to maim each other please.” They ignored him, continuing the display of passionate and very skilled battle.

Eventually, one of Baz’s lackeys ran in and tried to separate the two, receiving a bloody nose and a disabling kick to the solar plexus as Matt and Elektra simultaneously turned on him. At this point, Baz decided enough was enough, and triggered the disabling high-pitched frequency, sending both Matt and the nearby Julia to the ground, hands over their ears in a desperate attempt to block the sound.

Elektra looked at Baz with unbridled loathing. “Seriously?” she said. “We were just playing. No need to hurt him.” She put her hand out to Matt who was slowly uncurling now that the sound was gone.

“As I said, Ellie honey, you can play after the performance.” There was no judgement in his voice when he repeated Elektra’s absurd use of the word ‘play’. He just seemed kind of bored.

“Stu, mate, get up,” Baz ordered his lackey with a sneer. “If you can be taken out so easily, you’re fired.” He looked at Stu’s bloody nose and handed him a tissue. “Go clean yourself up and pack your fucking bags.”

Baz followed Stu out without further comment.

Julia marched up to Matt. “Can you warn me before you pull a stunt like that so I can take you out first? You’re not the only one that’s affected by that sound weapon, you know.”

“Sorry,” Matt said sincerely. “I didn’t think. Are you okay?” He gently touched her shoulder, and she leaned into him.

“Yeah, but I won’t be so forgiving next time,” she warned, and then rubbed it in by adding, “idiot,” under her breath. It was said with more affection than malice, however.

“About thirty seconds response time,” Elektra telepathically told Matt. “That’s plenty.”

Matt gave a small nod, which worked as an answer to both women. This multiple communication channel thing was complicated.

“Are you okay?” Foggy said, nervously joining the group.

“Yes,” the three answered in unison.

“Good. Make sure you play nice next time,” he ordered.

 

* * *

 

A couple of days later, Foggy confessed to Matt that he was getting a little tired of his and Elektra’s tests of the compound’s weaknesses. He was worried that the two of them were probably treading a fine line as far as Baz’s tolerance was concerned.

“I’m not going to stop, Foggy,” Matt retorted. “If we want to get out of here, this is what we have to do.”

“Okay, well maybe I could help.”

“Ah, yeah, I don’t – I think you might – you need to stay safe,” Matt stuttered.

“You don’t think I have anything to contribute,” Foggy said indignantly.

“I didn’t say that, Foggy. I would never say that.”

“Prove it then. Let me help.”

And that’s how Foggy found himself sitting guard at the main doors to the Galaxia compound under the guise of sewing in a quiet place. He sat there all evening, and then the next, until he was happy to report back to Matt that on the few occasions someone did come through the door, the hallway was completely deserted. And yes, they did open the door even when Foggy was right outside.

“You’re not much of a flight risk though,” Matt pointed out.

Foggy was about to argue, but Matt was right – he was unlikely to run out into the hallway. The test had its limits.

“What now?” Foggy asked over breakfast the next day.

“Tomorrow is performance day,” he said with a mouth of egg, “and there must be extra staff on the ground behind the scenes. I know of at least two hidden doors in the arena that can be accessed when the arena is raised.”

“Hidden doors…” Foggy repeated. How had he not noticed any doors?

Matt continued, “it’s been easy to identify a few of them around the compound when it’s been quiet, but the arena is more difficult, particularly as it’s only raised for a short period of time.”

He was interrupted by a flustered Julia. “Matt, I need to talk to you,” she whispered, pulling him away from his half-eaten meal.

“What’s wrong?” He clasped her arm with two hands and tried to get her to calm down.

“Please,” she begged. Matt excused himself from the table and followed her into the rec room.

“What’s-”

“I’m going to fall,” she said, clearly distressed.

“You won’t. You’re good at heights - you said it yourself. You’re like a spider.”

“No, you don’t understand,” she said, swaying slightly as a comforting measure. “I saw it.”

“As in a premonition?”

“Yes.”

Matt didn’t know what to say. He really didn’t understand how Julia’s premonitions worked, just that she didn’t usually share knowledge of her visions before they happened. She rarely tried to alter the future, even if she didn’t like the outcome.

“Can you change it? Not perform?”

“I don’t know. This is what I’ve been debating for the last hour. I don’t want to meddle, but oh Matt, the fall is horrific.”

“You could break a finger or something. That way you won’t be able to perform.”

Julia laughed bitterly. “Only _you_ would suggest breaking something as an avoidance strategy. There are easier ways to get out of a performance that don’t involve painful injuries.”

“Do it. Whatever it takes,” Matt said firmly.

Julia hugged him, burying her face in his chest. He stood there a little wooden, not quite sure what to do next. He twitched in hesitation, and then slowly wrapped his arms around her slight body. They stood there for almost five minutes, not speaking, not moving, until Foggy walked in.

“What happened?”

Matt gave him a look that said, ‘ _not now’_ , and Foggy took the hint, backing out of the rec room and joining Mop at the corner table instead.

“Where’s Matt?” Mop asked immediately.

“With Julia,” Foggy said simply.

“But you’re not fighting,” he observed, lazily chewing on an apple.

“Nope.”

“Told you. You’re family.”

* * *

 

Julia’s premonition really threw her. Mid-afternoon, the Galaxia’s practice time was interrupted by Natasha yelling at her from the highest point in the arena. Julia had stumbled on a landing, which seemed quite minor but at that height could be deadly. Julia usually never missed a beat, and she knew that her error was due to nerves rather than a lack of skill. She had to be careful the premonition didn’t actually _cause_ an accident. Maybe Matt was right. Maybe she should just injure herself now and force a change.

Baz quickly scaled the tower to see what the commotion was about. Sam and Natasha both pleaded with Baz to let them perform by themselves.

“She’s not good enough,” Sam argued.

“She’s a liability,” Natasha added. Julia let them argue the point on her behalf. She certainly didn’t want to perform with them.

“Guys, just shush for moment,” Baz interrupted. “What happened?”

“She almost fell,” Natasha said. “She landed wrong. She can’t perform up here if she can’t land properly.”

“She needs more training,” Sam said.

“She needs to be able to _see_ ,” stressed Natasha.

“Yeah nah,” Baz said after consideration. “Jules here knows what she’s doing. It’s just nerves, isn’t it?” He ruffled her hair. “You’ll be great. I feel it here.” He patted his stomach.

“But-”

“Nope,” Baz held out a hand. “I don’t want to hear another word about this. You perform or we’ll find somewhere else for you to be useful.”

Natasha and Sam looked stunned. They were his favourites. Baz would never reassign his favourites, would he? He saved threats for problematic Galaxia – those who underperformed or acted up – not the stars of the show. Julia glared at them both and they glared back, even though they knew Julia couldn’t see their expressions.

The rest of the practice went without incident, but Julia was even more shaken. The Galaxia left the arena gossiping about what had happened. It was rare that someone raised their voice mid-practice, and even rarer that Baz didn’t give Natasha and Sam exactly what they wanted.

Julia went straight to Matt for comfort, wrapping her arms around him again. He wasn’t used to public displays of intimacy and it took him awhile to relax. Their open affection and Julia’s clinginess only fuelled the gossip.

Matt had to drag her to the baths and again to dinner. She was completely miserable, terrified of both the premonition and the prospect of actively defying the foretold incident.

“You should eat,” Matt instructed when it was clear that she hadn’t even touched her meal. “You need your strength. Otherwise you _will_ fall.”

“Don’t say things like that, Matt. Please don’t.”

“I still think you should, er, break something,” he said, and then realised he probably shouldn’t be openly advocating self-harm in front of Foggy, Yasmin and Clint, who were also sharing the table.

“Break what?” Clint said, not missing a beat.

“Nothing.”

“Come on Matt,” Foggy chimed in, “you can’t tell Julia to break something and then say it’s nothing. Break what?”

“Foggy, just leave it,” Matt pleaded.

Clint persisted, “break a carrot, break a plate, break a leg, break a neck, break up… what are you breaking?”

“I need to break a finger to get out of performing tomorrow,” Julia said brusquely.

“You know there are probably easier ways to not perform,” Foggy pointed out. “You’ve obviously spent far too much time with Matt if you’re thinking of deliberately breaking bones.”

Yasmin said, “is this about Natasha? If so, don’t listen to her. You’ll be fine. She’s just jealous.”

Julia gave her a withering look. “It’s not that.”

“Maybe we could help,” Foggy said. “Not with the bone breaking, but maybe with getting you out of the performance.”

“It’s not that easy,” Julia said morosely. “If Baz says you’re performing, you have to perform.”

Matt rubbed her back. “You know you have to do _something_.”

Clint put down his knife and fork. “Seriously, what happened? You’ve never been like this before.”

Julia drew in a few hesitant breaths, internally debating as to whether she should tell them. Only a few people knew about her precognition skills and she wanted to keep it that way. But if she wanted their help, perhaps it was best if they knew why. It was better than dying.

“I saw a vision of me falling tomorrow – during the performance.”

Silence.

Eventually she continued, “I get them sometimes – premonitions – and I’m never wrong.”

Silence.

“Um, so…” She expected questions, challenges to her claims, but not this deathly silence. Finally Matt said to the others, “even if you don’t believe in these things, you can at least see why she’s shaken.”

“Can’t you just decide not to believe it?” Foggy said, confused.

“I’ve never been wrong,” Julia snapped.

“These visions,” Clint said, trying to process the workings of Julia’s talent. “Do you just see them play out in your head?”

“Kind of. I get glimpses. I mean, they’re not visual images – I ‘see’ bits of the scene through my four working senses, just like I do in real life – the next day that is.” She sighed. “It’s hard to explain.”

“So you know the exact moment where you fall?”

“Kinda.”

“So could you just change the routine?”

“Natasha and Sam refused when I asked. I get their point – the entire routine is tightly choreographed and they don’t want to change it at the last minute.”

“Did you explain to them why you wanted it to be changed?”

Julia huffed. “No, there’s no way they’d believe me. And even if they did, Baz would block any changes.”

“So you want to break your hand instead,” Foggy returned to the original proposal.

Julia shook her head. “I don’t want to do anything. I almost never interfere. It can get messy.”

“You have to do _something_ ,” Foggy said.

“That’s what I said,” Matt replied.

Until now, Yasmin had barely said a word. She said quietly, “you know, it makes sense that you feel uneasy around Sam and Natasha. They’re both green. You’re red.”

“I’m what?”

“You have a red aura. You feel comfortable with people of similar colours – Matt, for instance. Or Foggy.”

“Me?” Foggy said incredulously. “How can I be the same as these two?” Never mind that he never even knew he had a hue. Or even that there were such things as coloured auras. First premonitions, now auras…. was he the only human in here without a freaky gift?

“There’s no _how_. You just are,” Yasmin stated.

“So I’m like the Neville Longbottom of the red people,” Foggy grumbled. “Great.”

“Neville saves everybody, don’t forget,” Matt said with a small smile.

Foggy rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Matt. I’ll keep an eye out for Baz’s pet snake.”

Julia interrupted, “so some colours don’t mix?”

“It’s not that simple,” Yasmin explained. “People are attracted to similar colours – if you can imagine a colour wheel-”

Julia and Matt looked uncomfortable.

“Er, you might have to explain it in a non-visual way,” Foggy said.

Yasmin blushed. “Of course, sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

Matt waved her off. “That’s fine. So what’s this wheel?”

“So if you can imagine a circle – is that okay?” Yasmin checked.

“Yeah, I know what a circle is,” Matt replied.

“Good – that’s good,” she said nervously, afraid of offending him. “In a colour wheel, every colour is arranged in a circle with cool colours on one half, such as blue and green, and what we call warm colours, like red, orange and yellow, on the other. It’s not absolute, of course. When you mix yellow and blue paint, for instance, you get green, so green is closer to yellow than yellow is to blue, which means it’s more likely a yellow person will be attracted to a green person than a blue person.”

Julia sighed. She was finding it harder than Matt to imagine the colour wheel. Matt had nine years of seeing colour, whereas Julia was a lot younger when she lost her sight and could barely conceptualise colour.

That said, Foggy actually knew what a colour wheel was and was still getting confused. “So if it’s like a basic colour wheel, reds and greens would be opposites. How does that old adage ‘opposites attract’ apply?”

Yasmin shrugged. “I think they mean personalities, rather than aura hues.”

“What colour are you?”

“Orange. Clint is orange too,” she added and Clint nodded. Yasmin and Clint were so close that it didn’t come as a surprise to anyone.

Foggy, Matt and Julia started throwing names at Yasmin.

“What’s Baz?”

“Green.”

Foggy asked, “Mop?”

“Purple.”

Julia chimed in, “what about Meng?”

“Orange.”

“And Mauro?”

“Purple.”

“Oh, I would have thought he’d be further away from red,” Julia commented.

“It’s nothing to do with skill in the arena,” Yasmin pointed out.

“Yeah, I think that’s clear,” Foggy said sarcastically. “How about Vladimir?”

“Yellow.”

Matt said meekly, “Elektra?”

“Red.”

Matt merely raised one eyebrow at this revelation, whereas Foggy choked on his mouthful of water, coughing and muttering an apology as Matt slapped him on the back.

Matt assumed he and Elektra would be opposites considering their near continual conflict. However, it could also explain the strange attraction he felt towards her, despite the fact he also kind of loathed her. He wondered if Stick was red too.

Matt was still having trouble imagining the wheel. It was an odd concept. “Could you outline the colour wheel again please,” he asked Yasmin. He held out his hand. “Maybe draw it with your finger.”

Julia held her hand out too, and Foggy interrupted, “Matt, give me your hand and I’ll copy what Yasmin draws on Julia’s.”

Yasmin drew a circle on Julia’s hand, and Foggy copied on Matt’s. “Here’s the circle. Now, remember the colours aren’t absolute. They blur. They’re sometimes made up of multiple colours that change depending on mood or circumstance, but everyone’s usually got a dominant underlying colour. You’re red, for instance,” she said to Julia, “but because you’re stressed, you have segments of yellow to the left of your head.”

“Like a mood ring,” Foggy interrupted.

Yasmin looked irritated and turned her attention back to Julia’s hand. She drew the circle more slowly, designating colours to segments. “Yellow, orange, red,” she said on one half. “Then purple, blue green, and back to yellow,” she noted, completing the circle. She drew lines across Julia’s hand as she explained, “yellow is opposite purple, red is opposite green, and blue is opposite orange.”

“So I shouldn’t be with green people,” Julia concluded.

“No, it’s not that you shouldn’t – you probably just aren’t naturally attracted to them.” Yasmin listed off some of the green people around the room, and it was true - they were people Julia had barely spoken to before.

Julia sighed again. “Was this meant to make me more confident or less? Right now I’m feeling even less certain about the performance.”

It was a good point.

“I’m sorry,” Yasmin said. “That wasn’t my intention. I guess I just wanted to let you know why you felt uneasy around Natasha and Sam. It’s not the premonition so don’t convince yourself of that. You don’t have the same connection to Sam and Natasha as you do, say, Matt; but that doesn’t mean that you’ll fall. You’re all highly skilled, and that’s what counts. Vladimir and Anatoly have never fallen and they’re on opposite sides of the wheel. They perform every week together without fault.”

“And if you still feel nervous, there’s always the break option,” Clint added.

Julia asked Matt, “do you think I should break my finger?”

Matt shifted in his seat, deeply uncomfortable. He didn’t want her to perform, he knew that, but opening telling someone to break their finger… that wasn’t something he could do. “I think – I think you need to decide that.”

“I don’t even know if I could break my finger, even if I wanted to.”

“Matt can give you expert advice,” Foggy interrupted. “How many fingers did you say you’ve broken?”

“Seven.”

“Seven?!” Clint exclaimed as Yasmin and Julia both huffed in astonishment. “How?”

“Fighting,” Matt said bluntly.

Foggy chuckled nervously. “You didn’t tell me that detail.”

“I didn’t tell you a lot of things, Foggy.”

“That’s true,” Foggy muttered.

“Look, if you _do_ perform and _do_ fall, we’ll catch you,” Clint said. “We all will, won’t we guys?”

The others murmured in assent.

“At that height I’ll probably kill you,” Julia pointed out.

“We’ll bring a sheet,” Foggy suggested.

“I’ll tear right through it at that speed.”

“I’ll catch you, Julia. I will,” Matt said earnestly. “Sheet or no sheet, I won’t let you get hurt.”

 

Matt woke in the middle of the night to Julia shaking his shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” he mumbled sleepily.

“I can’t sleep.” Her heart was beating slightly faster than normal, and she was fiddling with her sleeve.

He shuffled sideways and lifted his sheet. Wordlessly, she lay down next to him and snuggled into his side. Eventually, her heart rate slowed, her breathing fell in sync with Matt’s, and they both fell asleep.

When he woke again, she was gone. She didn’t mention it over breakfast. Nor did she mention anything about broken fingers.

Instead, they ended up talking about the metric system versus the imperial system when Foggy pointed out that it was weird their daily weight printouts were measured in pounds rather than kilograms.

“What’s weird about that?” Julia asked.

“Australia uses kilograms.”

“Maybe they’re accommodating us foreigners then.”

“Unlikely,” Foggy replied. “Matt, remember how I was describing that funny map to you last year – the one that shows the countries that use metric versus imperial?”

“Vaguely,” Matt said, more interested in his breakfast.

“Only three countries use it: the USA, Liberia and Burma-”

“Myanmar,” Matt corrected.

Foggy groaned, “you did that last time.”

Matt shrugged and ate another mouthful of porridge.

“My point was that it’s weird. Don’t you think it’s weird, Matt?”

Matt sighed and put down his spoon. “I don’t know, Foggy. Maybe the machine was made in America-”

“-or Myanmar,” Julia chimed in.

Matt shook his head, “not Myanmar - there are trade sanctions in place.”

Foggy stared. “How do you know these things?”

“I read?”

“Anyway, we’re getting off point,” Foggy said, clearly irritated. “If it’s in imperial, maybe we’re still in America,” Foggy whispered, audible only to the sharp-eared Matt and Julia.

“Maybe,” Matt said distractedly, returning to his porridge.

“Is that it? _Maybe_? I would have thought this was a big thing. We’re in America. That’s much closer than Australia.”

“And the desert?”

“Maybe we’re in Nevada or something. I mean, come on, Australia? Why would they take us all there – or here - whatever?”

“More space.”

“Yeah, for the aliens… that may or may not exist.”

“We’ve gone over this again and again, Foggy. There’s no way of knowing just yet.”

“Well we have less than two months to find out,” Foggy reminded him.

Julia leaned in. “What happens in two months?”

“College recommences,” Matt said.

Julia laughed. “That’s your goal? To escape in time for college?” She shook her head in amusement. “Thank you, I needed that.”

“Needed what?”

“You two, you’re so funny,” Julia said affectionately, patting Matt’s arm.

“That- that wasn’t a joke,” Matt said, offended at her dismissive response.

“I know.” She smiled.

After a lengthy and very awkward silence, Julia announced she was going to make some last minute changes to her new costume. She’d adopted Natasha and Sam’s blue-green theme – a move that took on more significance after the discussion with Yasmin the previous night. She wondered if she could sew some red into the outfit. Or was that just creating a superstition?

After she left, Matt said out of the blue, “Foggy, do you reckon you could sew me a cape?”

“Yeah, why?”

 

* * *

 

“You’re not wearing that,” Elektra said with a derisive laugh when she saw Matt’s cape. “Do you fancy yourself a superhero or something?”

Matt blushed. “No,” he said indignantly. “I just need something to catch people in if they fall.”

Elektra didn’t know about Julia’s premonition and Matt wanted it to stay that way. He kept it general. “Foggy made it double layered so that it’s extra strong.”

“And what happens when they find out you cut up your precious silk sheets,” she pointed out.

“What can I say - they wanted a superstar and they got a diva.” With a cheeky grin, Matt struck a pose, wrapping his cape around his body and crooking one leg seductively.

Foggy snorted. “With that cape, it’s probably more appropriate to adopt a clichéd broody loner pose, rather than sexy diva.”

Elektra looked at Foggy. “So where’s _my_ cape?”

“Oh – ah – I haven’t-”

Matt interrupted, “don’t listen to her, Fog.”

“I want a cape,” Elektra said sulkily.

Foggy rolled his eyes. “Okay, bring me your top sheet then…”

After another hour of sewing, Elektra had her matching cape. “What do you think, Matthew?” Elektra asked, swishing it behind her.

“I think you should say thank you to Foggy,” Matt instructed.

Elektra scowled. “What am I? A child?”

“Yeah, kinda,” Matt said deviously.

“Thank you, Foggy,” Elektra said slowly and loudly.

Foggy gave a curt bow. “Pleasure.”

“Now I have to find the fourth member of team red,” Matt announced.

Elektra raised her eyebrows. “Team red?”

“Haven’t seen her,” Foggy replied, ignoring Elektra. “She was fixing her outfit, but she hasn’t been in here for quite a few hours.”

Foggy nudged Matt with his elbow and Matt took hold. “We’ll find her,” Foggy reassured him.

“It’s not like she can go far,” Matt replied.

They found Julia in the bathroom, standing opposite the wall Matt punched only a few weeks earlier. “How do you do it?” she asked.

“You gotta be really angry and punch hard,” Foggy said.

Matt cleared his throat.

“Sorry, I’ll let him tell you,” Foggy added meekly.

Matt whispered, “are you sure you want to do this?”

“No,” she whispered back.

“Do you want me to tell you how to do it and then you can decide?”

“Yes.”

He held her right hand with both hands, gently rolling it into a fist. “You want to hit the wall with the knuckle of your pinkie finger. You’ll get what’s called a boxer’s fracture in his bone here.” He ran his finger along the back of her hand. “It’ll hurt like a son of a bitch.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “Better than dead.”

She slowly walked towards the wall, holding her right hand in her left as if it would unclench if left alone. She took a few deep breaths, drew back and-

“What are you kids doing?” Baz asked, strolling into the bathroom, hands in pockets.

Julia instinctively held her right hand in her left again - a comforting measure of sorts.

“Did you hurt your hand?” Baz asked, reaching for Julia’s hand and examining it. In a more dangerous tone, he added, “or were you about to?”

“Just warming up,” Matt said.

“In the toilets? With this guy?” He pointed at Foggy.

Matt decided to change tack. “Actually Julia’s hand does hurt.”

“Where?”

Julia pointed at the area Matt had just highlighted. “Your fifth metacarpal? Have you been teaching her shoddy boxing techniques, Matty? I would have thought a son of a boxer would know better than that.” Matt willed himself not to react.

“I think it’s just from all the practice. Maybe it’s strained,” Julia said nervously.

“Easily fixed. I’ll put you in the petting zoo. It’ll clear right-”

“No please,” Julia begged. “It’s fine, I’ll perform.”

“Julia, no, you can’t perform with a hurt hand,” Matt said in a panic.

Baz dropped her hand. “You better decide now, Jules baby, because the Arena awaits and I need to know whether I’ll have three Solars or two Solars and an extra pet.”

“I can’t be a pet. I can’t,” she whimpered.

“See you under the bright lights then, my little superstars,” Baz said with a grin, and turned on his heels.

“I can’t be a pet, Matt. I’d rather die.”

“You can’t say that. You can’t know.”

“I know that my path hasn’t changed. I know that tomorrow I’m not a pet.”

“What do you see tomorrow?”

“I don’t know. It’s not there. I- I don’t always see things. I have to concentrate first off, and then - even then I don’t always see anything. But right now there’s nothing.”

“But that _can_ happen - you don’t see anything, but the next day is uneventful?”

“Yeah, but-”

“No buts. This is okay,” Matt said, attempting to sound upbeat. “You’re going to go out there, be the best, strongest, most accurate performer in the arena and prove that you’re not a slave to your premonitions.”

“You don’t get it. The future doesn’t work like that.”

“Until a month ago, I didn’t think precognition was a real thing,” Matt pointed out. “Maybe I don’t get it, but I don’t think you should convince yourself you’re going to die before it happens.”

“Self-fulfilling prophecy - that’s what people call it,” Foggy chimed in. There was a silence, and he added, awkwardly, “but…. you already knew that … yep. Maybe I’ll wait outside.” He slunk out of the bathroom.

Julia leaned in and rested her forehead on Matt’s chest. “I’ll catch you,” Matt reminded her, wrapping his arms around her. “Whatever happens, I’ll catch you. So you concentrate on doing your best up there, and I’ll do my best on the ground. Okay?”

Julia silently nodded into his chest.

Eventually Matt broke the silence. “Can we leave the bathroom now? I don’t know about you, but my senses and toilets don’t really mix.”

Julia gave an amused huff and reluctantly broke contact. “As long as you tell me why you’re wearing a cape.”

“To catch you, of course,” he said as if it were the most obvious thing in a world.

“Please tell me you can fly.”

Matt chuckled. “I wish.” Linking arms, he said, “come on, let’s get it over and done with.”

 

* * *

 

Matt and Julia clung to each other until it was Matt and Elektra’s turn under the lights. They’d reluctantly acknowledged that capes and triple somersaults at height were not such a great mix, so just before they climbed the central tower, they removed them in what they hoped looked like a deliberately theatrical move.

As they climbed, Elektra said telepathically, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he replied in a whisper.

“Something’s up and I don’t want it affecting the performance. We can’t afford to get hurt because you’re sniffling over something.”

“Just leave it.”

“Is it your girlfriend?”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“You could have fooled me. You two have practically been crying on each other’s shoulders the last two days. You’re all lovey dovey.”

“I said leave it.”

“What would Stick say if he knew you’d fallen in love?”

Matt launched himself at her, punching her in the chin. She kicked back, and then leaped at a hanging rope, swinging over to a nearby platform.

“Fuck you,” he hissed.

Puffing with rage, he continued up the ladder, and Elektra followed on the opposite side. When they got up to the designated starting height, Matt put his hands on his hips and said, “you know you need to come over here if we’re going to do the routine as planned.”

“As ordered by that snivelling man down there, you mean.”

Matt raised his eyebrows. “It’s all the same in here, isn’t it?”

She swung over to his platform, and just as she reached the platform she landed a kick to his lower leg, causing him to land awkwardly and roll to the edge of the platform.

“Are you trying to kill me?” he breathed.

She walked over and put out her hand as a gesture of peace, but as she leaned over, he pulled her to the ground and used the momentum to flip onto his feet and away from the woman. She quickly flipped back onto her feet and advanced, but just as she was about to throw a punch, he leaped at a nearby rope and swung over to the opposite platform.

“You’re just going to run away like a scared little boy,” she teased. He ignored her and climbed up to another level just as she swung over. Matt was waiting for her at the top of the ladder and aimed a kick to her head. She ducked and grabbed his ankle. Instead of falling, however, he flipped backwards, landing on his feet. Elektra was thrown backwards off the ladder, but flipped herself upright, landing on her feet on the lower platform.

“Not bad,” she said with a dangerous smile.

“You didn’t do too badly yourself,” he puffed.

He picked up a rope and half-swung, half-slithered down to the start platform. “Come on,” he said, impatiently.

After the brief diversion, their performance went as planned and finishing with a headfirst slide down the ropes. They crossed mid-air and landed with a somersault twist. The Galaxia applauded a little nervously, not knowing how to interpret the rather violent start.

Baz gave a broad but fake smile. “You two sure do know how to get your pulses racing. Unfortunately we want fear, not rage.” He dropped the smile for a moment and stated threateningly, “you won’t do that again.”

Shaking with adrenaline, Matt hurried back to Julia, who was already on her feet.

“What was that?” she hissed.

“Ah-”

“Actually don’t answer,” Julia said, bouncing lightly on her feet. “Are you ready?”

“To catch you? Yes.”

She gave him a small kiss on the cheek. She licked her lips, comforted by the salty tang of Matt’s sweat, and then ran into the centre of the arena with Natasha and Sam. They bowed and ascended to the solar zone.

Matt was crouched as close to the centre of the arena as he could possibly get, ready to spring forward if and when necessary.

Matt could hear Julia’s heartbeat beating fast from the highest platform. _The aliens must be getting quite the kick out of this_ , he thought bitterly. She leaped off the platform in tandem with Natasha, swinging to the opposite side as Sam flew the other way. The next crossing required the two women to join Sam’s rope, ending in a flip onto the platform. So far, so good.

Matt realised that he’d stopped breathing, such were his nerves. _Deep breaths_ , he told himself. He needed to be at full capacity if anything happened. It was as if Foggy knew, because he heard a whispered “breathe” from across the room. Matt gave him a small smile in thanks before switching his attention back to Julia. At the next landing there was a slight hitch in her breath, as if she’d landed awkwardly. There was a small break before she was due to jump again, so Matt used the opportunity to whisper, “you’re doing well. Confidence is your strength.” If she heard, she didn’t acknowledge it.

The moves got increasingly more complicated and dangerous until they came up to the final stage: the head first jump to the floor. As the trio ran lightly to the edge for the jump, Julia hesitated slightly and over balanced, falling sideways instead of leaping towards the fabric ribbons in the centre. Time slowed. Matt sprinted onto the floor ready to catch her, but mid-way, her head hit a lower platform, her body twisting awkwardly in the air. Matt’s face changed to one of absolute horror as everything around him disappeared, his focus entirely on the falling figure. She fell into his outstretched arms, and he crumpled with the force, his cape flipping up and over the back of his head, cocooning them both.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up: this is turning into a much larger story than planned. I originally estimated it to be 12 chapters (based on my original chapter plan), but now it looks like there will be about 16. I hope you're enjoying it (I seem to have more subscribers than kudos so I don't know what that means. Is that good or bad?).


	11. Indoctrinations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a bunch of illustrations for my stories that I haven't posted mainly due to self-consciousness because I don't draw in a slick comic book style (it's also due to laziness). I thought I'd go ahead this time to make up for a slightly shorter chapter. Please let me know what you think and if it adds to or detracts from the story, and whether I should continue.

 

As soon as they hit the ground, Matt felt as if the volume had been suddenly turned back up (plus some). People were crying, screaming, swearing, running towards him as crouched over Julia’s body. He could hear a very faint heartbeat and he tried to talk to her, but she was limp and unresponsive. There was a massive hole in the back of her scalp. Matt tried to stop the flow of blood, quickly whipping off his cape and holding against the back of her head. A mixture of sweat and tears were dripping from his chin onto her face.

“Get out of the way, Matty,” Baz yelled, and Matt shook his head.

“You have to get help. Get the doctor,” Matt ordered.

“I have, you fool. Now get out of the way so I can see the damage.” Matt backed away and Baz crouched down, turning her head to look at the wound. The rest of the Galaxia were in a ring around the trio, watching in horror as Julia’s bands showed a slow in her pulse rate.

A couple of people appeared from a side door, and the ring of Galaxia moved aside to let them pass. As soon as they bent over Julia, Baz jumped back up on the dais, and announced the end of the performance, noting the bonus of a near death fall. “Tell your family, friends, colleagues about this absolutely unique experience.”

The Galaxia turned in unison at Baz. They knew full well that the organisers didn’t mourn deaths in the Arena - as long as they happened mid-performance, that is - but Baz’s speech still stunned them. Matt was about to leap at Baz in rage, but arms wrapped around him and pulled him in. It was Foggy – probably the only one that could stop him at this moment.

“Matt, don’t,” Foggy said, his voice wet. “Focus on Julia.”

Julia was unceremoniously lugged out. They didn’t even bother with a stretcher - one of Baz’s assistants just held her under the armpits and the other by the legs.

“What are you going to do to her? Are you even going to help her?” Matt cried, following them to the door. Matt tried to locate Baz’s heartbeat but he’d disappeared in the chaos, the coward. He then tried to follow the two out of the door, only to have the door slammed in his face.

Matt crumpled onto the floor again, pale and sweating. He was still clinging to his silk cape, blood and all. Foggy knelt down next to him. “Matt, I’m-” He stopped. There was nothing he could say.

Eventually Matt murmured, “I have to find her, I have to see if they’re looking after her.”

“Don’t you _dare_ hurt yourself again,” Foggy said. “It’s not worth it.”

Matt could hear Foggy’s heart racing at the thought and shook his head. He held the cape close to his chest and rocked slightly until Foggy put his hand on Matt’s back. Matt reached out and felt Foggy’s chest, holding his hand over Foggy’s heart until he started to calm.

Foggy’s legs were prickling from kneeling awkwardly. “Can you come with me? We need to clean you up.”

Matt looked confused. “Clean…” he repeated softly.

“You have blood all over you.”

“Blood,” he repeated again.

“Fuck,” Foggy muttered under his breath. Was Matt in shock? Matt didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would go into shock.

Matt flinched at Foggy’s swear word, but allowed Foggy to pull him to his feet. The small ring of Galaxia who’d been intently watching the exchange parted to let the pair through. Foggy led Matt to the bathroom for privacy and said, “here, you start on your face and I’ll get you a fresh bodysuit.” He hurried into the clothes storage room, expecting to see the baths full of Galaxia, but it was almost entirely empty. Then he remembered the post-performance area. It seemed everything was continuing as normal, as if nothing had happened.

Foggy turned around and almost walked into Matt. “Shit, you scared me,” Foggy breathed. Matt was standing there stone-faced and dishevelled, his facepaint streaked from his earlier tears. The feathers on his arms and legs were matted with blood, as was his hair. It stuck up in two tufts looking eerily like horns. Foggy would have laughed in any other circumstance.

“Hey,” Foggy said softly. He pulled Matt over to one of the basins reserved for washing hair and squeezed a generous amount of soap into his hand. “Put your head under here,” he ordered, turning on the tap. Matt barely moved, so Foggy gently pushed his head under the flow, rubbing shampoo into his scalp. “Can you wash your face?” he asked, and without waiting for an answer, Foggy tried to rub the paint off best he could without getting it in Matt’s eyes. He pulled Matt up and unzipped his suit. “I think it’s best if you clean the rest of your body over here.” Foggy pulled his listless friend over to one of the larger pools. Matt jumped in, fully submerging himself. He didn’t re-emerge. Foggy was still not confident in the water, but he didn’t care right now. He jumped in after Matt and grabbed him, accidentally scratching Matt’s skin with his nails in the panic.

“For fucks sake, Matt,” Foggy breathed as they surfaced. “Are you trying to kill me too?” Matt’s face remained blank as he slumped on the side of the pool.

Matt’s ears were blocked with water, isolating him from the harsher sounds around him. It dampened things, and while he usually hated the sensation, right now it was a relief. Cocooned in this softened world, he lay back on the pebbled surface, concentrating on the tiny lumps digging into his back. _6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11_ … he counted. He could hear Foggy panting next to him and he wanted to reach out and touch him, hold his hand, any kind of connection, but all he could do was lie here as if gravity had increased its pull tenfold. He didn’t know how long they stayed by the pool. Eventually Foggy unzipped his now wet suit and flung it in the direction of the clothes chute. There was a sharp slap of wet fabric on the floor that reverberated around the room, bringing the room back into focus. He winced at the sudden noise.

Finally, a reaction.

Foggy returned to Matt’s side, gently touching his arm. “Matt, can you get up for me?” Matt remained impassive. “Come on, Matt. You have goose bumps. You need to get dry and clothed.” Matt allowed himself to be led over to the towels, and when he didn’t make an effort to dry himself, the now clothed Foggy gave a deep sigh and started drying Matt himself. “You’re going to have to dry your nether region yourself, buddy.” He put the towel in Matt’s hand and Matt moved slowly, drying himself at snail pace before climbing into the bodysuit Foggy placed in his hands.

“Right. I don’t know about you, but I’m famished. Let’s go.” Foggy grasped Matt’s hand and pulled him towards the ref. Half way, Matt stopped. “What’s wrong?” Foggy said anxiously. Without a word Matt slid his hand up to Foggy’s wrist - to his pulse point - and then kept walking.

“What do you want to eat?” Foggy asked, tapping out his order on the vending machine. Matt shook his head. “You have to eat something.” Foggy ordered for Matt anyway: a plain meal of tofu, vegies and water. He ended up balancing a tray on each arm when Matt refused to accept his, wobbling over to the nearest table and directing Matt to sit next to him.

Foggy looked up and saw Mop staring at them from the corner, his face as impassive as Matt’s. The incident was so quickly forgotten that Foggy had to wonder if this was a semi-regular occurrence. Or was the trauma of losing a fellow captive just suppressed for survival reasons?

Matt wouldn’t eat. He wouldn’t even take a sip of water, even though Foggy pleaded and threatened and pleaded again. “Do it for me, Matt,” Foggy urged, going so far as to push the glass against Matt’s mouth. Matt reacted by getting up and disappearing into the rec room. By the time Foggy followed, Matt was almost at the top of the rope structure. Great. The one place Foggy couldn’t follow.

Foggy scaled the structure to the second nest. He’d never gone higher than this before. There was always the chance Matt would simply climb elsewhere once ( _if)_ Foggy reached him anyway, so Foggy whispered his request that Matt come down. Nothing. Foggy tried again, but Matt still didn’t react. He just sat there cross-legged with his eyes closed. Eventually Foggy decided to give him some time, lying on his own nest so as to keep his eye on his friend.

Matt could feel Foggy’s constant gaze. He half wished Foggy was up here with him, but that would be selfish, indulgent. Everyone he got close to would either die or leave him. Which one would it be for Foggy?

Stick had told him to keep a distance from others - that friends and lovers were a distraction, a weakness, a liability. But two years ago Foggy had barged through Matt’s carefully constructed wall and left room for Julia to climb through as well. What a fool he’d been. Between his pride and his attachment to others he’d become weak and vulnerable. And this weakness had caused others to suffer. Foggy was here because of Matt’s weakness after all. The right thing to do would be to cut Foggy out of his life, but that was a hard task in this place. And yet all he wanted right now was to lie next to Foggy in the nest because Foggy knew him, he knew what Matt needed, and most of all, he made Matt happy.

As if on cue, Foggy whispered, “what was it that you always used to quote, Matt? We must dissent from something?” Foggy knew full well the entire Thurgood Marshall quote. It was seared into his memory thanks to Matt’s incessant recitals. But he wanted Matt to say it. He wanted to remind Matt of the world outside his head. “It was something about fear, something about doing better… what was it?”

Matt frowned with irritation and whispered the phrase to himself. “We must dissent from the fear, the hatred and the mistrust…we must dissent because America can do better.”

Foggy kept going, “we cannot play ostrich. Democracy just cannot flourish amid fear…”

It worked. Matt jumped down onto Foggy’s nest. “It’s the other way round,” Matt said quietly.

“I know.”

“And it’s not the right context.”

“That depends on my intention,” Foggy argued.

Matt lay down next to Foggy, his hand tightly wrapped around Foggy’s wrist as if it would melt away if held any looser. They lay silently for a good hour before Matt said, “you know, someone told me once that I had to push people away if I wanted to be effective.”

“I’d say it sounds like you listened-” Matt went to interrupt, but Foggy kept going “-and yet you haven’t put it in to practice. You’re here now, with me.”

“It’s not easy… for me,” Matt stammered.

“Was this someone Stick?”

Matt didn’t say anything, so Foggy took that as a yes.

“He sounds like a real bastard,” Foggy said bluntly.

Matt’s mouth twitched. “He was a bit.”

“I thought you were mad with me,” Foggy whispered, “when you went up there.”

Matt sat up and faced Foggy, surprised. “You mustn’t think that. The truth is I felt ashamed.”

“Of what?”

Matt screwed up his face and after consideration shook his head.

Foggy rubbed Matt’s back, trying to alleviate the obvious distress. “You can tell me later, Matt. Lie down.” But Foggy changed his mind almost immediately, declaring, “actually, let’s go to bed instead. Fuck their stupid coloured timetable.”

As they entered their sleeping nook, Foggy spotted part of the blood-soaked cape hanging beneath the bed. “Matt, you didn’t…” Foggy groaned.

Matt had furtively stashed it next to his father’s jacket just after the performance. At Foggy’s words, Matt moved protectively towards the bed.

“Matt, it’s covered in blood. Please don’t keep it in bed,” Foggy pleaded, “it’s not healthy.”

But Matt wasn’t having a bar of it. He sat on the bed, strategically positioning himself over the cape, legs spread.

Foggy rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to take it from you, you idiot. It’s just a suggestion-” He was cut off when Matt suddenly reached over to his bedside table, knocking over one of his origami cranes in his haste. There was a new paper animal: a swallow.

Matt lifted it to his nose and breathed in the smell of Julia. He hadn’t noticed the additional animal before. As he ran his fingers over the folds, he recognised the small bumps in the paper. It was braille.

Matt carefully unfolded the animal and read the message before dropping it on the bed, hands shaking.

“What is it?” Foggy asked, alarmed at Matt’s mysterious behaviour.

“She knew,” he whispered.

“Knew what?”

“She said yesterday that she saw the fall and it was horrific, but she didn’t tell me the details. But she knew. She knew I wouldn’t be able to catch her.”

Foggy stared. “She knew she’d hit her head like that?”

Matt nodded. “But why didn’t she say so? I could have done more.” Tears started to form once again and he swallowed, trying not to break down.

Foggy joined Matt on the bed, taking care not to crush the letter. “Maybe she didn’t want you to, Matt. Maybe there was more to the premonition.”

“I thought we were close,” he said softly.

“You were for a period – for the last four weeks. But this place is weird. It does weird things to already traumatised people. Relationships are different here. Maybe she was protecting you, or maybe she was simply going it alone – just like Stick taught _you_.”

Matt wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “Relationships are a liability. They make you weak,” he mumbled.

Foggy was getting really sick of Stick’s indoctrinations. “Does our friendship make either of us weak?” he challenged.

Matt nodded.

Foggy rubbed his forehead in frustration. “That’s not the right answer, Matt, and you know it.

“You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for me, for our friendship.”

“Also incorrect - I wouldn’t be here if those kidnappers weren’t assholes.” Foggy grabbed Matt’s hand. “Look, you mustn’t be ashamed of missing her, and you mustn’t be ashamed of all the emotions you’re feeling right now. You know they have an amazing medical centre here. They’ll be doing all they can to help her right now.”

“She-she said she was going to-” Matt couldn’t say it. His entire body ached with grief, regret and fear.

“Die?” Foggy said in disbelief.

Matt touched a point on the note in confirmation.

“She couldn’t know,” Foggy said resolutely. “There’s no way.”

“And yet she knew about the fall,” Matt said, letting go of Foggy and running his hands over another section of the note.

“But then she said everything stopped,” Foggy pointed out. “She can only see 24 hours in advance, so she’s probably still unconscious.”

“The premonitions aren’t from her point of view though, Foggy. She’s a passive observer of her own life and the people around her. She’d see herself unconscious.”

“By that reasoning, wouldn’t she see herself dea- ohhh…” Foggy trailed off. “Do you think she was lying about seeing nothing? Is that how she knew?”

Matt shrugged. “She didn’t elaborate. It’s a small piece of paper.”

“Well, I don’t think you can rule out the possibility that she’s wrong,” Foggy said, realising too late that it was probably cruel to encourage false hope.

“Mmm… I don’t know why she’d write that otherwise. She wasn’t like that. She didn’t play games.”

Matt was starting to switch off again. Foggy could see his expression flatten, his breathing slow. Without another word, he curled up on top of the blanket and closed his eyes. The discussion was over.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst fest 2017.


	12. Facades

The day after the accident proceeded as any other. The performers returned to the main Galaxia area after breakfast, then the morning was spent in the arena, followed by lunch, arena, dinner, rec room etc. etc.

The majority of the Galaxia acted as if nothing had happened – as if one of them hadn’t just plummeted to their (still unconfirmed, but probable) death. Elektra made a brief snide comment along the lines of ‘what would Stick say’, but other than that stayed away. Yasmin and Clint briefly checked in on Matt and Foggy, but didn't have much to say beyond their apologies and 'can you believe it?’ They tried to speculate as to Julia’s fate but Matt quickly closed up and refused to talk. He wasn't about to share Julia's letter. It was written in braille, which indicated that Matt and Matt alone was the intended recipient (Foggy, of course, was a necessary exception).

Matt had not taken Julia's accident well. He might have exposed some of his emotional side to Foggy the previous night but now he was back to the quiet stone-faced Matt. Apart from a fiery confrontation with Baz that morning (during which Baz offered no answers or confirmations), Matt barely said a thing. He wouldn’t take part in the day’s arena activities and refused all food and drink. By the time bedtime came around, Foggy was near tears with anxiety, which finally convinced Matt to take a couple of sips of water while brushing his teeth.

In the arena, the leeway Baz had granted Matt came to a grinding halt two days later. On the threat of the sound weapon, Matt reluctantly joined the sullen-looking Elektra. She insisted on practicing at height, even though Matt hadn't eaten for 72 hours.

That night over dinner when Matt once again refused even a single sip of water, Foggy gave up on the pleading and the begging and the guilt tripping. Instead, he dragged Matt into the point furthest away from the ref - the bathroom - and let rip. It was a nasty exchange, but Foggy was at his wits end. Matt wasn't really the kind of guy who would change his mind just because you yelled at him - in fact the opposite was true, and Foggy knew that. However, it was Foggy’s last ditch attempt to get through to him. Foggy expressed his concern about being reassigned as pets, his worries about Matt's health and their escape plans. Foggy pointed out that Matt needed to be as strong and fit as possible when the time came to stage the break out. Nothing worked. Matt just stood there silently while Foggy ranted and raged. It was only when Foggy mentioned Matt's father that he animated. 

"Don't you dare bring my father into this," Matt hissed, his face reddened.

"Well I wouldn't need to if you'd eat and drink something," Foggy retorted.

"They have nothing to do with each other."

"Well, I think your dad would be pretty pissed off right now if he knew you were starving yourself. After everything you've survived so far, you're willing to hurt yourself just because you're sad."

"Sad?" Matt spat with derision. "You think this is all because I'm fucking sad?" Matt was shaking with rage at this point. "Oh, you think you know me so well... well you fucking don't. So fucking fuck off."

Foggy crossed his arms. "No," he said simply.

"Fine then," Matt said, walking towards the door, but Foggy stepped sideways to block it.

"Move aside," Matt said quietly and dangerously.

Foggy didn't budge. In fact, he spread his arms and legs like a starfish just to make the point.

"I could hurt you right now," Matt warned.

Those words hurt Foggy more than any fist could have, but he still didn't budge.

After a tense minute of silence, Matt suddenly dove through the gap between Foggy's arm and leg, landing in a somersault roll. Foggy dropped his arms with a huff, and watched Matt briskly walk away. Between the worry about Matt’s health and the arguments, Foggy had had just about enough. His head was throbbing with the stress of it all and his hands shook slightly as he splashed his face with some water from the bathroom sink.

Foggy waited a minute then wandered back into the ref to finish his meal, glancing up at the lone figure on the top of the rec room rope structure as he passed through. If Matt wanted to be a stubborn ass then there was nothing else that Foggy could do other than wait for him to come to his senses.

Matt retreated to the top of the rope structure during breakfast the following morning, and then again at lunch, leaving Foggy to eat alone, dwelling on this bizarre turn of events. The kidnappers had taken their freedom and almost everything in their lives away from them, and it galled Foggy that getting Matt to eat something was also out of his control.

As it was, Matt's dehydration caught up to him that afternoon. He collapsed during training, falling from one of the lower platforms with a crunch. He landed on his left arm and while the fall itself didn't look particularly injurious, the fact that he'd collapsed due to dehydration made it all the more worrying.

Foggy flew to Matt's aid, but Baz shooed Foggy out of the way with an insult. Baz's assistants arrived with a wheelchair, unceremoniously plonking Matt into it before wheeling him away. Baz yelled at the Galaxia to keep training as they left the arena. Foggy half-heartedly tried to accompany Matt beyond the Galaxia quarters, but both he and Baz knew there was no way Foggy would be able to inflict any damage, let alone sustain an escape, so he slumped next to the double doors to wait for Matt’s return.

 

* * *

 

When Baz returned about half an hour later, Foggy was still there. “Where’s Matt?” he demanded.

“Resting,” Baz replied as he walked past, not even bothering to look at Foggy.

Foggy ran after Baz. “Can I see him?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s resting.”

“Is he coming back here later?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“If he bloody well cooperates.”

“With what?”

Baz stopped. “For fucks sake, mate. Can you just get over it?”

“Get... over it?” Foggy stuttered.

“Yeah, and stop bugging me.”

“What are you doing to him?” Foggy said, undeterred.

Baz rolled his eyes. “You really are a pain in the bloody neck, you know that? Apparently it was deemed crucial that you come along and make Matt happy or some such bullshit, but you two have been nothing but trouble since you got here.”

“Yeah, well, I can be more trouble if you don’t take me to Matt,” Foggy retorted, arms crossed.

“Be careful, Fogster, you don’t really have any bargaining chips. It’s not as if you’re worth anything in the arena.”

Foggy thought fast. “If you take me to Matt, maybe I could get him to eat something. Get him back in the arena faster.”

“Hmm… maybe…” Baz typed something into his tablet then said, “come with me.”

“Oh thank you, thank you,” Foggy gushed.

They exited through the double doors and wound their way through the labyrinth of narrow corridors. Eventually they came to a set of stairs – the first Foggy had seen since his arrival.

“The medical centre isn’t up the stairs,” Foggy said nerviously. “Have you taken him somewhere else?”

Baz ignored him.

The stairs curved around until they reached a landing. Baz took a right turn and then a left before opening a narrow door with his key card. “In there,” Baz ordered.

Foggy looked into the empty room. “Matt’s not here,” he said, shaking slightly. “Where is he?”

“Look pretty; don’t bite,” Baz said, pushing Foggy into the room and locking the door behind him.

Foggy’s stomach churned as he realised where he was. He launched himself at the toilet in the corner, vomiting over and over before collapsing in a heap. He lay there, curled on the floor with his eyes closed for a good couple of hours. He didn’t want to think about, let alone look at his surroundings. Eventually the taste of bile became too much. He opened his eyes and crawled over to the tap. He rinsed his mouth and drank two full glasses before daring to take a proper look at the room.

The small cell was simply decked out with a bed, exposed toilet, and sink. The only moveable objects were the plastic cup, toothbrush and soap by the sink, and the blankets and pillows on the bed. The walls were a glaring white thanks to the half dozen bright lights mounted on the ceiling. One wall was entirely mirror and there were four embedded small white holes at various heights.

_‘After awhile the solitude starts to eat away at you,’_ Foggy remembered Mop saying. _‘I would let them pet me just because I craved touch.’_

They’re the alien petting holes, Foggy realised, and promptly threw up the two glasses of water. After rinsing his mouth again, he crawled into the bed and pulled the blankets over his head. He remembered Mop talking about one-way mirrors. If he couldn’t see the aliens then he damn well didn’t want to be the subject of their gaze.

He hid until he caught the scent of roast beef and gravy within the room. At first he thought he was hallucinating, but when he lifted the covers, he could see a plate of food sitting on a small shelf near the door. He hadn’t really thought about food up to this point, but he wouldn’t have guessed that he’d be fed something as traditionally comforting as roast beef. He wanted to leave it, refuse the food on principle, but the smell was too alluring and his stomach grumbled in response. He hated himself already.

Cloaking himself in the blanket, Foggy hesitantly walked over to the plate, looking for some kind of snare. He touched the side of the plate with the back of his hand and when nothing happened, he carried it and the plastic cutlery back to his bed, awkwardly eating under the blanket. Not wanting to move from beneath his bedding, he shoved the remains under the bed and curled up underneath the covers.

A few hours passed before he realised that he could no longer ignore his full bladder. Still hiding beneath the blanket, he made his way to the absurdly exposed toilet and self-consciously unzipped his bodysuit. If he thought the humiliation of learning to somersault in front of a group of super athletic performers was bad, this was so much worse. He started sobbing before he’d even finished peeing.

He imagined Matt returning to the Galaxia quarters and finding Foggy gone. Matt would probably do something stupid like punch a wall again, or worse. Foggy didn’t want to dwell on hypotheticals, but his mind kept going back to Matt and his ability to self-sabotage.

Huddled under the scratchy blanket in the now dimly lit room, Foggy cried himself to sleep.

 

* * *

 

As Foggy was throwing up his water, Matt awoke at the other end of the compound, now somewhat rehydrated. He still felt hungry (although that had lessened after the second day of fasting), but the pounding of his head caused by four days of almost no water had changed to a dull ache concentrated around his left temple. The unpleasant chemical smell of the medical centre dominated his senses. He could feel soft cuffs around his wrists, the scratchy fabric of a medical gown and sheets, a tight bandage around his left arm, and a needle in his right hand. There was a steady drip, drip, drip of the IV fluids hanging above him.

Matt considered this the perfect opportunity to learn more about the compound. As far as he could tell he was alone, but he knew that every square inch of the place was monitored. He couldn’t risk moving just yet. Instead, he concentrated on the sounds around him: the far off crashes and beeps of equipment, the staff members nattering in a room down the hallway, and the occasional moan. As with his previous visit to the medical centre, he could hear the croak of a voice that belonged to someone at least half a century older than any of the Galaxia.

He half hoped to hear Julia’s sweet voice, or at least someone talking to Julia or even _about_ Julia, but there was nothing. Nevertheless, if he was going to find out more about the compound, he couldn’t get distracted by his heart. Stick was right on that account.

Matt lay there for what must have been hours before he heard the familiar sound of Baz. “Where’s my sleeping beauty, Sylv?”

“I moved him into 6a,” she replied. “It’s quite well sound-proofed and there’s not much mischief he can get up to in there.”

Matt assumed she meant the lack of equipment in the room to repurpose as weapons. He was shackled to an unmoving bed with just a drip and a heart monitor for company. Curtains were half-drawn over the windows running along one side of the tiny room. Despite the thickness of the glass, he could still tell when someone was on the other side looking in. Like now.

The door unlocked with a heavy click as Baz let himself in, with Sylvia following closely behind.

“Why isn’t he awake?” Baz demanded.

“You said he hasn’t consumed any food or water for the last four days. That’s got to take its toll. You’re lucky his kidneys aren’t failing.”

“ _He’s_ lucky. Stupid bloody idiot,” Baz spat. “All this over a girl.”

“Wait there, I’ll get some more fluids,” she said, deliberately cutting Baz’s rant short.

Baz shook Matt’s shoulder in an attempt to wake him up, but he’d meditated himself in a state that enabled him to appear unconscious. It was convincing enough that Baz gave up trying to wake him, and stood around impatiently tapping his foot.

“Sylv, can we wake him up using other means?”

“Well, sure. But it’s not wise. We’ve scanned his head. There’s no damage there other than a superficial bump, so he should wake up soon.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“Then we might have to be a bit more invasive in our support. There’s only so much fluid a body can take, y’know. In fact, it’s been far too long already. I’ll go get Chester to help me with a catheter now. It’s better than cleaning up a mess.”

_Fuck_ , Matt thought. He really hadn’t thought this consciously unconscious thing through. But Sylvia was right - thanks to all the fluids, he was busting to wee.

He waited with dread for Sylvia and Chester to return. Baz was still standing guard, grunting softly as he tapped something into his tablet. Eventually, Matt heard the squeal of unoiled wheels as the two medical staff wheeled a trolley into the room. The panic mounted as he heard the sound of rustling plastic packets and the snap of latex gloves. He couldn’t give up yet. He’d not gathered nearly enough information. If he ‘woke’ now, they’d probably return him to the Galaxia quarters and it would all have been for nothing.

To try and calm himself, Matt concentrated on Foggy, trying to imagine what he’d be up to now. He was probably eating dinner with Mop. Something with gravy hopefully. Foggy liked gravy. He’d told Matt over and over that for all its faults, the arena compound at least made genuine gravy – not the fake powdered shit. He realised that he had no idea what time it was. Maybe dinner had come and gone. Maybe Foggy was making origami objects or another tiny sewn animal for Matt’s bedside table – the requested meerkat perhaps.

“What are his sats like,” Sylvia muttered to herself as she looked at the monitor next to Matt’s bed. “Start him on low flow, Chester. Perhaps the concussion’s worse than we thought. In any case, the oxygen might perk him up a bit.” A tube was roughly looped under Matt’s nose and connected to the wall. It hissed steadily - yet another layer of distracting ambient noise.

“The bloody monitor’s died again,” Sylvia said, banging on the side of the machine.

“I’ll fix it in a sec,” Chester said, distracted. “Oi, Baz, can you give us some privacy please?” The sharp words broke Matt’s meditation on Foggy.

Baz seemed unhappy about the order and was about to argue the point, but after Sylvia added “and close the curtains before you go,” he reluctantly left the room. He knew which battles to pick.

Matt calmed a little as Baz left the room. The last thing he needed was Baz’s commentary throughout whatever was about to happen.

Even with the supposed anaesthetic gel, the procedure was more painful than punching a bathroom wall. It took all of Matt’s strength not to cry out. He repeated a prayer over and over as he kept control of his breathing and his body, eventually turning his focus to the relief from his full bladder. He was starting to feel light-headed, perhaps due to the oxygen or maybe it was just his brain’s way of coping with the pain.

“Clean him up, would you?” Sylvia directed Chester. She pulled her gloves off with a snap and wandered out to join Baz in the corridor.

“I thought Matty was faking,” Baz said. “But there’s no way he could fake unconsciousness through that, right?”

“It’s doubtful,” Sylvia agreed.

Chester threw a blanket over Matt as he finished up. But before he’d even made it to the door, Baz hollered, “mate, pull those curtains back.” With a huff, Chester complied.

“And get a replacement monitor,” Sylvia called after Chester as he wheeled the trolley down the hall.

“What now, Sylv?” Baz asked, impatiently tapping his foot.

“We just have to wait,” Sylvia replied.

Baz quickly grew tired of watching Matt sleep. “Let me know when he wakes up,” he ordered as he strode out of the medical centre.

Once Baz was out of earshot, Matt cautiously allowed himself a little movement. The tube from the catheter was lightly brushing against his calf, so he shifted slightly to stop the irritation. Unfortunately, the movement just triggered further itchy points: the oxygen tube rubbing against his cheeks, the pillow corner digging into his neck, not to mention most of the tube against his leg. They’d taped part of the tube to the inside of his thigh, which now pulled uncomfortably at his skin and hair. He gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the sensation by spatially mapping his surroundings instead. He imagined walking down the hallway, looking into each of the rooms in turn. He considered the adjacent room. It was similar to his in dimensions but completely empty. On the other side was a bathroom, cold and tiled. Slowly, he managed to redirect his attention away from his bodily sensations, expanding his knowledge of the medical centre and its inhabitants.

Once every couple of hours, someone would check on him. They’d take his blood pressure, check his IV, and at one point, added something to his line from a syringe. Matt almost broke his façade of unconsciousness at that point, panicking about the syringe contents, but nothing happened. It didn’t take away the pain in his head or arm. He felt no woozier than he had before. Whatever they gave him, it was a mystery.

Matt started recognising a pattern to the checks. The attendants would start at the other end of the centre beyond the two heavy dividing doors. The first stop was an occasionally responsive male patient, the second patient was completely unresponsive, and the third occasionally moaned as she was disturbed. The fourth and last patient to be checked was Matt.

At one point, there was a disturbance to the pattern. The doors to the medical centre slid open and Matt could hear a couple of new voices: one was bright and high-pitched, and the other had the tone of a frail old man. There was something about the voices that bugged Matt. Eventually he realised it was because the accents were American. None of the voices outside the Galaxia population had been anything but Australian so far. How odd that his own accent could sound so out of place.

He heard his name mentioned – something about good hearing. An attendant hurried in and slipped a pair of headphones over his ears, flicking on the noise cancelling function. The attendant hesitated, and then switched on the attached MP3 player. _Jingle Bells Rock_ blasted from the headset. Noise cancelling technology might work on normal hearing, but not Matt’s, and even with the music blasting he could still hear bits and pieces. It was the song that was the most punishing of all – how did they know it was his most loathed tune? Fortunately, he only had to endure four repeats before the attendant returned and removed the headphones.

Eventually, the combination of intense concentration and lack of food caught up with Matt and he drifted into a deep and much-needed sleep.

He awoke to Baz standing over him, silently watching, breathing, ruminating. Matt inadvertently twitched in fright.

“Morning, sunshine,” Baz drawled, a smile in his voice.

The act was up.

 


	13. Crocs and tentacles

“Now, I’m going to get straight to the point,” Baz said gruffly. “You gonna eat something or not?”

Matt just lay there, unmoving. Truth be told, after a day of lying still pretending to be unconscious all he wanted to do was move. If he didn’t move, however, maybe Baz would get bored and leave him alone.

Baz tapped the needle in Matt’s hand. “This can’t be very comfortable, mate. Are you really going to choose _this_ over eating? What do you want? Lemon sole, roast duck, crème brulee, sacher torte? You name it and I can get it for you.”

Matt remained unresponsive, although his stomach chose an incredibly inopportune moment to growl in hunger.

“I’ll tell you what, you think about it for a bit and I’ll be back later.” With a laugh, he added, “don’t go anywhere.”

Matt listened to Baz’s footsteps disappear down the hall. “Hey Sylv, Matty’s awake. Get him whatever he wants from the kitchen if he asks. Otherwise I’ll be back at lunchtime.”

Sylvia hurried in to Matt’s room. “You’re finally awake, love. We were beginning to worry that we’d missed something.” She removed the oxygen tube and Matt screwed up his nose in an attempt to relieve the itch. If he was thirsty before they’d started blasting air up his nose, it was nothing like how he felt now. He was parched.

“Chester,” she yelled, quickly apologising when she saw Matt wince. “Sorry, love. There’s no one else in this unit, so I thought it’d be okay to call for him the lazy way. I forgot you have sensitive hearing.”

Chester appeared in the doorway, eyebrows raised. He wasn’t too impressed with Sylvia’s summonsing method either. “Get Matty some water,” she instructed.

Matt closed his eyes at her use of ‘Matty’. His pet name had become indelibly associated with Baz and his psychological play. Matt was having trouble assessing Sylvia’s intentions. She’d been relatively kind to him so far, but the fact that she called him Matty made her seem instantly less trustworthy.

“Matty? You still awake?” Sylvia said, giving his shoulder a small shake. Matt opened his eyes in lieu of speaking.

“Baz says you’ve stopped eating and drinking,” she said simply. “Can you tell me why?”

Matt didn’t respond.

“He thinks it’s because of a girl – Julia,” she said delicately.

Matt animated at Julia’s name. “Is she here?” he whispered, his mouth clicking with dryness.

“Where’s that water?” Sylvia said to herself. She patted his right arm, “wait there, love,” and disappeared out the door. She returned minutes later, muttering, “if you want something done, you gotta do it yourself.”

“Here, love, sit up.” She pulled the top of the bed to a more upright position and pressed the cup to Matt’s lips. Matt was ready to refuse. He didn’t want any part of this. But he figured if he complied now, maybe she’d tell him about Julia. He took a small sip and swirled it around his mouth. Ahhh… it was such a relief. He caught his breath then accepted another mouthful, and another, before closing his mouth resolutely.

“Good boy,” she praised, as if he was a child or a dog. Still, he lapped up the praise. He’d been praise starved growing up in the orphanage and as a result he’d do pretty much anything for a pat on the head. It was a weakness and he knew it.

“Is Julia here?” he tried again.

“Oh, love,” Sylvia said sadly, rubbing his arm. “I’m afraid not. Her injuries were too severe.”

It wasn’t a surprise after reading Julia’s note, but the confirmation still tore at his heart. He blinked away the tears.

“Is that why you stopped eating and drinking?” she pressed.

Matt didn’t reply.

“You know, you’re not the first to refuse food.” She patted his arm affectionately. “We like to address it early - before it starts affecting your health. It’s not good for you to starve yourself.”

“Locking us up isn’t good for our health,” he muttered, squirming away from her hand.

“Yes, well, but now you’re here, you should look after yourself to the best of your ability,” she said matter-of-factly. “I’ll help you to the best of my ability, as long as you promise to do the same, alright?”

Matt scowled. The ‘we care’ mantra was just absurd. He was sick of all the mind games.

Sylvia continued, “now I know Baz probably promised you all kinds of rich treats to get you to eat, but we might start you off on something simple-”

She was interrupted by Chester holding a cup of water. “Does it really take ten minutes to fetch a glass of water?” she admonished.

“There was an – incident in the other unit,” he replied.

“Do I need to go down there?”

“It’s under control now.”

Matt threw his attention to the rooms at the other end of the hallway. He assumed the area beyond the double doors was ‘the other unit’. With the doorway open for treatment, as it was now, he had a much better chance of hearing something significant. He could work with this.

“Right, well, could you get Matty here a box of Energite?” Sylvia ordered. Chester made to leave, but Sylvia said, “wait a sec.” She turned to Matt. “What flavour do you want? We have chocolate, vanilla, berry…” She turned back to Chester, “what else?”

“Ah, I think we still have a few boxes of banana flavour,” Chester replied.

Matt couldn’t think of anything worse than artificial banana flavoured anything. What were they talking about? Whatever it was, he didn’t want a bar of it. He shook his head.

“Vanilla it is then,” Sylvia said with a nod to Chester.

He returned with a small UHT box. Matt could hear him struggling with the straw glued to the outside. “Give it to me,” Sylvia said with a frustrated sigh. She popped it into the top and shoved the straw in Matt’s mouth. He spat it out, twisting his head to one side in refusal.

She held the straw up to his lips again. “Come on, we’ve opened it now. The least you can do is take a sip.”

Matt shook his head.

“Just one? You must be hungry. I can hear your stomach growling.”

Matt’s expression remained impassive but inside he was roiling. _Vanilla_ of all things. How dare they call that vanilla. He could smell the artificial flavouring, oils and powdered milk. Putrid stuff.

Sylvia popped outside and returned with a stool. She plonked herself down with a small groan and waited. After a tense five minutes, she tried to offer Matt the straw again, but he shook her off, this time also pulling on the restraints in protest.

“I know,” Sylvia sighed. “I don’t like using them. I’m worried that you’ll pull your IV out. We can remove the catheter now that you’re awake.”

That moment couldn’t come soon enough as far as Matt was concerned.

“Is there anything else I can get you? I could get you a real milkshake if you’d like,” Sylvia said enthusiastically.

Discouraged by Matt’s lack of response, she eventually patted him on the arm again and said, “I’ll leave you to rest, love. I’ll return in a bit and we’ll try and eat something then, okay?”

It wasn’t really a question.

* * *

 

Foggy was awake when the lights changed from dim ‘night’ to bright ‘day’. The ‘night’ lights in this new room weren’t exactly conducive to sleep and if he didn’t have a blanket over his head, he probably wouldn’t have slept at all. He’d become used to the artificial indications of night and day over the last month or so, but in the Galaxia quarters the dorms were a lot darker and the partitions between beds cast deep shadows. The light cycles in this new space were really only good for measuring time.

Still hiding under the blanket, he inched it open so that he could see the adjacent wall. With his thumbnail, he dug a small groove into the soft paint. Day one. He ran his hands along the wall and found similar patterns faintly drawn into the wall. They’d been painted over, but the faint ridges remained. Some of them stopped short at 20, others were banks of 100, 200 even. Foggy tried to block the prospect from his mind. 200 days in a tiny cell. He’d go mad.

Foggy caught a whiff of sweet fruit, toast and coffee. When he poked his head out, there was a breakfast plate waiting for him on the small shelf. It was his normal breakfast order, even down to the small jug of milk and two packets of sugar he always added to his coffee. After weeks of orders via the vending machine, they were obviously well aware of his preferences. He smuggled the breakfast back to bed, downing the coffee before starting on the toast, the breadcrumbs pooling in the bedsheet creases. After only a few mouthfuls, he pushed the plate and mug under his bed and curled up under the blankets once again.

Foggy dozed until he heard a scuffling from the door. His heart jumped thinking they had changed their mind - that he was going to be taken back to Matt. He quickly pulled off the blanket, but was dismayed to find the noise was merely the mysterious food shelf shifting back into his room. Curious, he crept over to the shelf, still cloaked in his blanket. There was a clean bodysuit and a small wad of origami paper.

His eyes prickled as he thought about folding paper without Matt. They always folded together, not alone. He stuffed the paper under the bed next to his half-finished food and dirty plates.

Foggy felt disgusting and desperately wanted a shower. There was a bit of dried vomit on his sleeve from where he’d wiped his mouth the previous day. He’d been trying to ignore it by rolling up his sleeve, but a replacement bodysuit was a much better option. He managed to extricate himself from his dirty clothes sitting down, but getting back into the clean suit was a lot harder, eventually, he draped the blanket over his head and stood up, quickly wiggling into the slightly-too-tight suit before kicking the dirty one under the bed. They’d obviously got the sizing wrong.

As the day wore on, he became more and more used to toileting, cleaning, eating under the blanket cloak. Unfortunately it also meant that the blanket was starting to get quite dirty. He didn’t really consider the consequences of sleeping and eating under an object that also touched the sides of the toilet.

By the time dinner came around, the novelty of discovering food on the shelf had well and truly worn off. Mealtime was a relief from the boredom, but he wasn’t expending any energy and as a consequence felt little desire to eat. He didn’t want to admit it, but he’d actually come to enjoy his daily exercise and felt like he _needed_ it for his wellbeing and mental health. He finally understood why Matt exercised as much as he did.

 

* * *

 

Matt flexed his feet, hands and neck as he lay on the thin bed, waiting for something to happen. Despite Sylvia’s promise that morning, they still hadn’t removed the catheter and he was stick of having to lie still. He couldn’t move his arms much because of the wrist restraints and the catheter acted as a form of leg restraint – the tube pulling uncomfortably every time he moved his lower half. As tempted as he was to try pulling it out himself with his foot, it was in a delicate area and Matt wasn’t quite brave (or stupid) enough to take chances.

Sylvia had tried twice more to get him to eat, each time opening another flavour of the vile liquid supplement, and shoving the straw in his mouth. When Baz turned up later that day, she recounted all her attempts, and Matt could hear Baz tapping his foot as he always did when things were out of his control.

There was a click of the lock as he entered Matt’s room. “Matty,” he said affectionately. “You feeling better, mate?”

Matt rolled his eyes at Baz’s act. He couldn’t help it.

“What’s that about?” Baz said with a laugh.

Matt closed his eyes. _Go away_.

“Sylv says you’re still not eating. That’s a mistake, Matty. You have some mighty find muscles on that splendid body of yours. If they wither away, what are you going to do then, huh? You’ll be as weak as the Fogster and you don’t want that.”

Matt opened his eyes at the mention of Foggy.

“There you go,” Baz said. “Open your eyes and your mouth. I have something…” he wrestled with the straw attached to the Energite box. “Ergh these things are impossible… hang on, there you go.” There was a pop as the straw broke the seal. “Aeroplane mode,” Baz said, making zooming noises as he directed the straw towards Matt’s mouth. Matt turned his head and got poked in the cheek instead.

“Well that’s no good,” Baz said sullenly. “You’re all scratched up now.” He brushed a calloused thumb against Matt’s cheek. Better get Sylv to put something on that.

“Sylv!” he yelled.

“What?” She came running.

“Matty’s got a scratch.”

“What? How?” She rushed over to Matt’s side. “Pfft. That’s not a scratch. It’s barely a mark. What happened?”

“I didn’t quite make the target,” he said, holding up the drink box.

Sylvia sighed. “Give it to me.” She snatched the drink and directed Matt, “now be a good boy and open your mouth.”

Matt rolled his eyes again. When he was ten, he wanted to be parented and wasn’t; now that he was in his 20s he was being parented and didn’t need to be. What did he do to deserve such a topsy-turvy life?

After five minutes of coaxing, the pair gave up. “There’s no point,” she said eventually. “We’ll try again tomorrow. In the meantime I’ll give him something intravenously.”

“You hear that, Matty? You could be eating something delicious, but your veins are going to get it instead.” He tapped Matt’s IV just to make the point.

Matt closed his eyes again and this time Baz took the hint.

That evening was not much more comfortable than the last. He was no longer afraid of being detected as conscious, but he was still being prevented from moving for other uncomfortable reasons. He still had that bloody catheter in - which he interpreted as punishment for not eating - and his arms and lower back were starting to ache from lack of movement.

Matt could hear the night attendants shuffling around in the other unit. As far as he knew, there were no other Galaxia being treated, which suggested that the compound was home to many more people than Matt had previously assumed. If the Galaxia’s purpose was to perform, what was the purpose of the elderly people? He shuddered as he considered the possibilities.

With nothing notable happening down the other end of the hallway, Matt allowed himself to drift into a fitful sleep. Hopefully tomorrow would be more illuminating.

 

* * *

 

Just as Foggy marked a second groove into the wall, he experienced his first alien sighting. Now that probably sounds exciting to some but to Foggy it was terrifying. He’d convinced himself that the whole performing for aliens thing was absurd and unlikely, yet the green tentacle thing currently waving through a porthole suggested otherwise. Foggy pulled the blanket tight around his body and peered through a small gap at the limb (Was it a limb? It could have been its head for all Foggy knew).

He remembered going to the zoo as a child and being disappointed when the animals would hide under rocks or behind trees. Occasionally some idiot would try to throw a rock or a sandwich into the enclosure to tempt the animal out, or they’d rap on the glass, trying to get the animal to move. He dearly hoped none of the aliens had rocks.

Foggy could smell his breakfast coffee and toast newly deposited on the shelf; however, there was no way he was even going to move - let alone retrieve - the much-desired coffee. Eventually, the tentacle withdrew and Foggy allowed himself to unfurl slightly. He was busting to wee, but was too scared to move from the relative safety of his bed. Nope. No way.

Two hours passed and his back started to cramp from the stress and full bladder. Cloaked in his blanket, he weed and then grabbed the coffee and sugar before scuttling back to bed. He considered going back for the milk, but he much preferred the safety of the bed to a bit of milk. Milk would have taken five seconds longer and in his current state, five seconds was far too long. Foggy quickly downed his black coffee and slid the empty cup under the bed. It clinked against the growing number of plates and cups. Keeping a constant eye on the portholes, Foggy considered his next move.

_‘What would Matt do?’_ he thought. Matt would probably smash the mirror in. Or attack the tentacle. He certainly wouldn’t have eaten the food, Foggy reflected with a wave of bitterness. Matt’s refusal to eat was what got Foggy here in the first place. In fact, it was Matt’s fault that he was even kidnapped. Until this point, Foggy had not really dwelled on Matt’s role in his capture, mainly because he had Matt’s company as a distraction. As horrible as captivity was, he still had his best friend. Now, isolated from Matt and all other humans, he started to really reconsider the man he knew as Matthew Murdock, law student and best friend. Matt had still not adequately explained who Stick was, despite promising to do so. Matt had said Stick trained him for ‘the war’ (whatever that was). Foggy laughed it off at the time, but the absurdity of a child soldier being trained in a Manhattan orphanage bugged him. What was Matt not telling him? And why the hell wasn’t Matt crashing through the door to rescue him right now?

Intent on thinking about something other than Matt, he recited some of the law codes he learned at Columbia last semester. The rote nature calmed him, and when he got to the end, he started again. It became a sort of chant, a prayer, and he spent the rest of the day repeating the code over and over until he fell asleep.

* * *

Sylvia’s version of saying good morning to Matt was, “now love, are you going to be a good boy and eat something today?” He scowled in response.

“You promised yesterday that you’d take this thing out,” Matt said, pointing to the catheter.

“I did, that’s true. But then you didn’t eat anything and I didn’t want you expending any more energy getting to the bathroom.”

That didn’t even make sense. The bathroom was six feet away.

There was a now familiar crinkling of plastic as she wrestled with another drink box. “One of these days I’m going to write to the manufacturers - tell ‘em to attach straws in a more user friendly way,” she muttered, finally extracting the straw and punching the box with a solid jab. She held the straw against Matt’s pursed lips. “Open up. You’ll feel a lot better afterwards.” But Matt just turned his head away and continued to scowl.

“Okay,” Sylvia sighed, “so this isn’t working. You don’t want this boxed stuff and to be honest, I don’t blame you. Tell me what you want.”

“I want to go home,” Matt muttered.

“Yeah, well that ain’t happening, Matty. Tell me what you want to eat.”

“Nothing,” he said sullenly.

“And why’s that?”

Matt pursed his lips.

“You’re sad, is that it?” she suggested.

Matt shook his head.

“You miss her. And this is the one thing you can control in your life: not eating. Is that right?”

Matt didn’t respond.

“I thought so,” she said patting his forearm. “In that case, we’ll keep pumping you with IV nutrition and hopefully you’ll see there are other ways to regain control. Once you’re eating actual food, you can re-join your friends in the arena. Okay, love?”

Matt closed his eyes.

“Right, I’ll let you sleep. You must be fatigued without food.” She hurried out, locking the door behind her before Matt could remind her about the catheter. Damn. He had to plan these things better.

She didn’t return for days. Nor did Baz. Instead, a series of assistants drifted in and out. They didn’t attempt to get him to eat, nor did they engage. They changed his bags, and at one stage replaced the IV needle with another, but apart from that, left him alone. He tried to talk to a couple of them - to ask them what this place was, what their role was - but they always parroted back the same line about an alien circus and then departed as soon as possible.

By the fourth day, his hips and back were throbbing from lying in the one position. He couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Where’s Sylvia?” he said to a female attendant, tears threatening to spill.

“She’s attending to other matters,” the woman said in a clipped voice. “We’re to call her if you decide to eat something.” She peeled the tape off his hand and removed the IV needle, throwing it in a plastic container.

“Eat?” he repeated in a whisper. “What about if I need something else?”

She poked around his arm for a bit, prodding each of his veins. “Like what?” she said, distractedly.

“I keep asking you to remove the catheter.”

“We can’t do that, sorry, unless it gets infected.” She pulled up his gown and examined him. “It looks fine to me. Someone will be in later to do a more thorough check.”

“I want to get up.”

“So eat something,” she said bluntly. “Honestly, why are you doing this to yourself?”

Matt hesitated then said in a whisper, “I’m not.” In a more hostile voice, he added, “I’m being held captive in this place. I’m not doing anything to myself. Why are _you_ doing this?”

The woman shrugged. “Good pay. Pays better than mining even, and I don’t have to live with all those yobbos in the dusty mining communities. There’s aircon and good food and free flights home on my rostered days off. It’s a sweet deal.” She pulled an elastic strap around his upper arm and tightened it. “Can you make a fist for me? Good, and now open your hand. Now repeat.” Matt complied. “Good.” She poked his veins again and he could hear her unwrapping a plastic packet.

“Where’s home?” Matt said, keen to keep her talking.

“Broome. Up north. Lovely beaches with white sand and turquoise water, although you gotta watch out for the crocs.” She poked his vein again, and said, “you’re going to feel a small prick.”

“Crocs?” he repeated, reflexively closing his eyes as the needle went in.

“Crocodiles.”

“You - you have crocodiles at the beach?” Matt said in disbelief.

“Yeah,” she said, applying tape over the new IV cannula.

“So where do you swim?”

“The beach,” she said simply, as if he were daft.

“Aren’t you scared of being eaten?”

“I’m more scared of the sharks to be honest.”

“The sharks,” Matt repeated, mouth open in wonder.

“Maybe it doesn’t make sense. I mean, the crocodiles can follow you onto land, whereas a shark can’t.” She paused and said half to herself, “it’s psychological I think.”

Matt winced as she reattached the IV line. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she said quickly, but he waved her off.

Matt thought perhaps he could get something more specific out of her now that they’d established a conversation. He said, “so what do you do here?”

“Have you ever seen a croc?” she said, ignoring his question.

Matt shook his head. “Not many crocs in New York City.”

“I thought they lived in the sewers.”

“Alligators,” Matt corrected. “And I think that’s a myth.”

“You seen an alligator?”

“Um,” Matt thought about it. He’d been to the zoo before he’d lost his sight, but he couldn’t remember if he’d seen a live alligator.”

“I saw pictures before I went blind.”

“You’re blind?” she exclaimed.

“Yeah,” Matt said, eyebrows raised. “You’re in charge of my care and you weren’t told that?”

She shrugged. “I guess not, sorry.” She fiddled with his IV one last time and then said, “see ya,” as she locked the door behind her.

Matt shifted uncomfortably in his bed, his hips digging into the thin mattress. He was increasingly tempted to eat something just so he could return to Foggy. But every time he came close to doing so, he’d have an exchange like the one with croc girl. There was still so much more information to gather.

He closed his eyes and tried to meditate the discomfort away. He could do this. He could find out more. He could escape this place.

 


	14. Talk to the tentacle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foggy vs aliens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have so many impending deadlines so I decided to procrastinate by tidying up this mini chapter starring Foggy (and the aliens). Enjoy!

 Foggy drew another line in the wall. Six. Six days of hiding under a blanket. Six days without a shower. Six days without seeing a single person. Six days worth of dirty plates under the bed.

The plates were starting to smell.

Foggy took a deep breath and removed the blanket. After glancing nervously at the portholes, he knelt next to the bed and slowly stacked the plates, wrinkling his nose at the fuzzy mould growing on a couple of the uneaten dinners. He plonked the crockery on the shelf and stared at the hatch, waiting for something to happen. It seemed logical that the plates would be returned the same way they arrived, but perhaps he’d guessed wrong. Finally realising that the pile of plates was taller than the hatch itself, he removed a couple, and the hatch immediately opened, swallowing up the plates. Thirty seconds later, an empty shelf slid back through the wall, and Foggy dumped the remaining plates. It disappeared into the wall again. Foggy quickly crouched down, trying to get a glimpse of the other side. Nothing.

He was so engrossed in the sliding shelf that he didn’t notice the stubby eight-fingered hand wiggling through one of the tall hatches. He jumped back with a squawk, throwing himself flat against the back wall. The hand was a greyish colour - the colour of death and disease. Foggy edged his way to the bed and covered himself with the blanket. He vowed never to come out again.

 

Seven. Foggy woke up to a purple limb slithering closer and closer to the bed. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. Just as it was inches away from the bed, it stopped. The limb elevated so that it was at Foggy’s eye height and Foggy realised with horror that the limb was in fact a face with a single eye. It blinked once as it stopped in front of Foggy’s face, bobbing slightly as it took in Foggy’s features. Foggy wanted to retreat completely, hide his face, but he didn’t want to break eye contact just in case purple-head-limb alien could reach further. There was a barked command from outside and the alien retreated quickly.

Foggy’s breakfast arrived on the shelf along with a chocolate bar – compensation for the purple horror perhaps. Foggy hadn’t had chocolate since the kidnapping, and despite his cynicism about the compound’s bizarre punishment and reward system, he gratefully snatched it up along with the coffee. Coffee and chocolate for breakfast. Glorious.

“Caramello,” he read on the label before ripping it open. He could have sworn it was the name of the chocolate Baz had drugged them with - although the other had been in the shape of a koala. Maybe it was an Australian thing. Foggy sniffed it. It smelled okay. He took a small nibble. It tasted okay. Gooey caramel ran down his chin as he bit into the first small square. Predicting an unwanted sugar high, he ate the other half of the square, then wrapped up the rest of the bar and hid it under his pillow. No one ever entered his cell, and they probably had cameras following his every move anyway, but there was something symbolic about hiding chocolate under a pillow that was calming, reassuring. Foggy turned to the coffee, downing it in one before replacing it on the shelf. Hesitantly, he asked, “can I have more?” The shelf retreated and a minute later it returned with a full cup of coffee, another two sugars and a jug of milk. “Huh,” Foggy said, hugging the second coffee like a prize as he returned to the bed.

The energy generated by the sugar and caffeine inspired a frantic bout of exercise. Matt would be so proud. Foggy performed push-ups, sit-ups, lunges and a couple of minutes of planking before collapsing on the bed, sweaty and recharged with endorphins. A hairy limb waved from one of the portholes, but after a quick glance to assess the threat level, Foggy ignored it, staring at a spot on the ceiling instead.

Another green tentacle appeared after lunch. It waved around for about an hour this time. Unlike the other aliens, the tentacle appeared most days and always stayed the longest. Foggy didn’t know if it was a single alien on an extended visit to Earth or whether it was a particular species that just had more patience than the others. Whatever the case, the tentacle no longer scared him quite as much as he used to; in fact, the company of another living being was almost comforting. Mop had been right – a week of isolation had already changed him.

 

Eight. Foggy broke off another piece of chocolate. Perhaps it would be wise to stagger his consumption a little. Maybe a small piece every second day just to make it last longer. He nibbled the corner. It wasn’t the best quality chocolate - oily and unbelievably sweet - but it was better than nothing. He chugged down the coffee and then asked the hatch, “can I have another coffee?” A couple of minutes passed, and Foggy assumed that yesterday’s second coffee was a one-off, wandering back to his bed dejected and slumping against the wall. But then the shelf slid forward again, along with the second coffee. “Thank you,” Foggy whispered as he grabbed the mug, instantly hating himself for feeling so fucking grateful.

Bored, he grabbed the wad of origami paper stashed under his bed a week ago and tried to remember how to make a crane. He had to undo it a few times, but he eventually got there, folding the beak down to finish. He leaned against the wall with a sigh. There were only so many origami objects he could make. He absently twirled the bird between his fingers while gently knocking the back of his head against the wall. The pain alleviated the boredom for ten minutes.

One of the portholes opened and green tentacle appeared. Of all the aliens that could appear, Foggy was relieved that it was this one. It never intruded very far, nor did it bang on the glass. It was just there. After fifteen minutes of watching it wave and curl, Foggy slid off the bed and tentatively inched his way over to the mirror. He stopped a foot away, staring in disgust at the lumpy form.

“What are you?” Foggy asked.

No response.

“Do you speak English?”

Silence.

“Do you speak?”

The tentacle moved around a little quicker.

“You speak,” Foggy concluded. The tentacle stopped.

"You _don’t_ speak.” The tentacle waved again.

“You don’t speak, but you understand what I’m saying,” Foggy suggested, and the tentacle wiggled enthusiastically.

“Huh.” Foggy threw himself back on the bed, eyes glued to the alien. The tentacle slumped down as if sad.

“Give me a break,” Foggy said. “I’m trapped in here. You don’t get to be disappointed that I’ve moved a couple of feet away.” The tentacle drooped a little more.

Soon after the tentacle left, another Caramello was deposited on the shelf. It had to be a reward. Foggy still had most of the other bar jammed between the bed and wall (after the pillow proved a bit warm), but he took the second chocolate anyway, shoving it alongside the half-eaten bar.

 

Nine. Foggy inched his way towards the tentacle and put his hand out. It moved towards his, and Foggy touched the soft, squishy skin. He pulled his hand away as if shocked. It wasn’t slimy as he’d imagined. It was warm and slightly furry. He put his hand out again, and this time stroked the tentacle. It curled around his hand and Foggy jumped back again, scared. He retreated to his bed and watched the tentacle hang limply against the floor. “I –I don’t want to be held,” Foggy stammered. “Or choked.” He’d watched enough giant octopus documentaries to know just how functional tentacles could be. The tentacle waved in agreement, and Foggy returned to the porthole. He moved closer this time, and the tentacle gently stroked Foggy’s arm. “This is fucking weird,” Foggy muttered.

“You know, I have a friend who can hear heartbeats,” Foggy told the tentacle, not sure where he was going with this, but the tentacle waggled encouragingly. “He’s my best friend and I miss him.” The tentacle stroked his arm tenderly as if to convey its sympathies. “We were taken forcibly by the people who run this place and held against our will. And then we were separated.” Tears started running down Foggy’s face. “All I want is Matt back,” he sobbed. The tentacle retreated a little, away from the wet. “What do you care,” Foggy muttered, wiping his eyes. The tentacle kept its distance for the next fifteen minutes or so, and then disappeared.

Almost immediately another chocolate bar appeared on the shelf. “You know,” the miserable Foggy told the hatch, “I’d rather a beer.” Two hours later, a plastic cup full of beer appeared on the shelf. “Fuck, I was joking,” Foggy muttered, but took it anyway. He wondered what else he could request. “Could I have a book?” he said. “Any book.” A lunchtime sandwich arrived instead. “Book, sandwich, same thing,” Foggy said morosely.

That night when the lights were dim, the tentacle returned. It was odd. Foggy had assumed that lights equalled visiting hours, but it looked like he was a 24/7 exhibit. Great. He’d never have another restful night of sleep again.

It seemed to be waving him over, as disgusted as he was, Foggy was bored, and it seemed like a welcome distraction. He plonked himself on the ground within its reach and it fondled his head. Foggy had long been appreciative of Matthew ‘magic fingers’ Murdock’s head massages, but this one was something else altogether. Eventually, the thought of the tentacle causing that much pleasure made Foggy feel a bit nauseous and he crept back to bed. The tentacle looked a little dejected and quickly slid away.

 

Ten. Foggy leaned against the glass as the tentacle rubbed his temples. It was the middle of the night, but he was in no mood to sleep. He might as well talk to an alien. “My friend, Matt - he performs in the arena. He’s so good at everything. He’s blind, you know, but he can do more than most seeing people can do. He’s super smart – top of the class at Columbia – oh yeah, that’s a kind of school where we learn. We both want to be defence lawyers…” Foggy drifted off. What was the point…

The alien nudged him and twirled its tentacle in front of his face. “You want me to keep going?” It waved. “Yeah, so Matt, he’s my best friend. He collapsed at training last week because he stopped eating because his girl- his friend died in the arena. Apparently it’s good for you aliens – it’s good for people to d-die, but it hurt him… a lot.” Foggy’s eyes watered as he blurted out the whole story. “And Matt thinks he can do things on his own, but he can’t. He’s not always the best at knowing what’s good for him and everyone around him. But he’s got such a good heart and I miss him. Where was I? Oh, yeah, so he stopped eating and drinking, then collapsed, then he was taken away somewhere and they told me they were taking me to see him,” Foggy let out a sob, “but then they locked me in here instead.” Foggy wiped away the tears and snot with his sleeve. “I can’t live without him and he must be going crazy with worry in the arena. I’m afraid he might do something stupid.”

The tentacle patted him twice then withdrew though the porthole, leaving Foggy a sniffily mess. Foggy lay in bed, staring at the usual mark on the ceiling for what must have been an hour or so when there was a hiss from the door and it slid open. Foggy sat upright, concurrently excited and too scared to breathe. A tiny, ancient-looking woman stood at the doorway. She beckoned to him. Thinking it was some sort of trick of the mind, he didn’t move, but then she beckoned again.

“Foggy,” she croaked.

“Yes?” he said in a slightly choked voice.

“Come.”


	15. Did you find what you were looking for?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've included a brief but slightly spoilerish warning in the endnotes.

Foggy hesitantly followed the tiny woman. She was barely taller than his chest. Her arms were withered, and her skin paper-thin and blotchy. He could easily knock her down and try and find Matt, but then what?

He followed her down the curved stairs and along a corridor to their left. “Where are we going?” he asked.

She put her finger to her lips. “Shhhh… no one can know we’re here.”

“You’re helping me escape?” he whispered.

She shook her head, “that’s outside my capabilities.”

Foggy was led into the familiar medical centre waiting room with its withering pot plant and bank of shiny plastic chairs. She swiped her hand over the security lock and the door slid open.

Putting a finger to her lips again, the woman slowly tottered down the corridor. They passed by the room they’d been taken when they’d first arrived at this horrific place. The lights were dimmed, but Foggy could see all the equipment glowing a silvery blue.

They passed room after room - all empty - until they reached one with a lone bed in the centre, on which lay Matt. Foggy flew at the door with a crunch, noisily jiggling the handle. The woman shoved him out of the way with surprising strength. “You’ll get us both in trouble,” she hissed.

“You have to open the door. That’s Matt, that’s my friend… how – how did you know?” _And who are you?_

“That’s one room I don’t have access to. But you wanted to see him, and here he is.”

Foggy put his head against the glass in an attempt to better see past the reflection into the darkened room. “What’s wrong with him? Why can’t he hear me?” He soon identified the shapes around Matt’s head. “Why – why is he wearing headphones? He can’t hear me.” Foggy looked from the IVs to the bag beneath Matt’s bed. He assumed Matt was back in the arena – not here, whatever this was. “What are they doing to him?” he whispered with a small whine of despair.

The woman seemed genuinely distressed by Foggy’s reaction. “You wanted to see him,” she repeated.

“I don’t want to see him through a pane of glass like this. I want to be by his side permanently and certainly not in this goddamn awful place.”

“They said you were happy,” she whispered.

Foggy tore his eyes away from Matt and said in utmost disbelief, “what did you say?”

“We have to go,” she whispered, pulling him slightly in urgency.

“I can’t leave him,” Foggy said, looking back at Matt’s unmoving form.

“You have to. Come on,” the woman hissed.

It’d be so easy to refuse, to throw a chair through that window. Matt was so close.

“I’ll bring you back,” she urged, and Foggy reluctantly obeyed. He followed her through the maze of hallways, but when they got to the curved stairs, he started to panic, “no, please, I can’t go back in there. Please.”

“You must – for - for now. I’ll return.” She put her hand on his arm and said quietly, “you look so much like my grandson.”

Foggy felt like he was going mad. Screwing up his face in confusion, he whispered, “who are you?”

“My name’s Gloria. I’ll be back.” She gave him a small push into the room and the door closed between them with a small hiss. 

* * *

 

Matt drifted. They’d put the earphones on him again. Usually it was for a short time – for incidents they didn’t want to hear, such as the moving of people and objects, the brief treatment of another Galaxia on one occasion, or discussions they didn’t want heard. But this time it’d been hours. Hours of tedious 70s synth-pop. After about an hour of trying to concentrate his hearing beyond the earphones, he gave up and just accepted the music. He might have fallen asleep. Whatever happened, he woke up to the unmistakable smell of Foggy. It wasn’t a strong smell, mind you – it was a mere whiff - but Matt knew Foggy’s smell (probably too) intimately, and recognised the underlying tang of fear.

The smell had drifted in with the attendant as she came in for one of the many nightly checks. He squirmed in protest, trying to rub away the earphones that were firmly taped to his head. He writhed and kicked, dislodging the catheter, which made him yell in pain. The young attendant panicked and unable to give him either verbal or visual commands, she took a shortcut, quickly adding a sedative to his IV. He fought for a little longer before falling still.

 

Matt woke to an argument down the hallway.

“You’re always having a go at me about sedatives and then your idiot nurse uses it on a guy who’s already restrained,” Baz yelled. “Explain that.”

“I’m not going to excuse her behaviour. It’s against protocol. But at the same time, we shouldn’t have left him like that. You can’t leave headphones on him for extended periods. It’s cruel.”

Baz huffed. “He has great hearing. _Better_ than great. He’s probably listening to this right now and laughing.”

“Don’t be so-”

“ _Hi Matty_ ,” Baz sung.

Sylvia snapped. “Enough’s enough. I’m getting him up and moving before he withers away. You need to stay away for now.”

“You need me to control him,” Baz pointed out.

“I’ll take my chances,” she retorted.

Matt heard the heavy footsteps of Baz retreating and he signed a breath of relief. He was too tired, too sore, and too angry to endure Baz’s games today.

Sylvia let out a frustrated huff as she opened the door to check on Matt. “What happened last night?” she said, genuine concern in her voice.

“I wondered that myself,” Matt croaked.

“I mean what caused your anxiety?”

“You taped earphones blasting electronic songs to my head overnight,” Matt said bluntly.

“Yes, well, Baz said he didn’t want to take any chances with your hearing - you know how he gets.”

Matt closed his eyes. _Fuck off and leave me alone_. He wasn’t about to tell her that the noise-cancelling earphones were no match for his hearing, even with the music at high volume. And most of the stuff he overheard was absolutely useless anyway. He was once again tempted to give up and eat something, but the smell of Foggy needed to be explained first.

“Did you have any people in here last night?” he prompted. “Did one of the Galaxia get hurt?”

Confused, Sylvia said, “why do you ask?”

“I thought maybe that’s why the earphones – you know.”

“No, there was no one.”

Bingo. That was a confirmation that Foggy wasn’t in here hurt at least. If he wasn’t hurt, however, then how did he get in here?

“Um, can I have a visitor?” Matt couldn’t believe he hadn’t asked before.

“No, that’s out of the question,” Sylvia said immediately.

“No one came to visit then,” he said slowly.

“What are you talking about, dear?” She sighed. “Are you feeling okay? Are you still a little woozy?”

Matt shook his head.

“Good, we’ll get you up then.” She disappeared out the door and returned with Chester. Without threats or warnings, she detached the IV line, unwrapped the restraints around his wrists and ordered him to slide his legs over the side of the bed. “Slowly, slowly.”

Matt went to stand up and immediately slithered to the ground, whacking his knee painfully as he fell.

“I said to go slowly,” Sylvia said with a tut. “Chester, help him up.”

“I’m okay,” Matt insisted, getting up on one knee with a grunt. No he wasn’t. Matt’s legs shook a little as he tried to stand. “Actually, I might just sit here for a bit,” Matt conceded. He ran his hand through his greasy hair, distressed at his weakness. This was not how things were meant to go. Even reaching his arm above his head was painful.

Chester ducked out of the room and returned with a wheelchair. That got Matt on his feet.

“Good boy, Matty” Sylvia praised. “Now take Chester’s arm and he’ll take you to the bathroom.”

Matt rolled his eyes at her tone, but grabbed Chester’s arm obediently. He could use the stability, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

Matt spent almost an hour in the bathroom, showering and cleaning every inch of his body. He felt disgusting after lying in bed for eleven days.

He limped out of the bathroom wearing a new gown, dreading whatever they had in store for him now. “Back on the bed,” Chester ordered.

“Please, no,” Matt said, distressed. “Please.”

Chester anxiously rubbed his hands and looked out the windows. “You could sit for a bit I guess.” He pushed the wheelchair towards Matt.

“Can I stand?” Matt’s hips and back were throbbing through inaction. He put his hands on his hips and arched back, stretching his lower back.

The exercise seemed to convince Chester that the delay was worthwhile. He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, watching Matt stretch. Eventually Matt slumped against the wall too and Chester snapped, “finished?” Matt screwed up his face, and Chester added, “look, mate, I was told to get you back in bed. If you comply maybe I’ll let you do your exercises next time as well. You understand?”

Chester was just reattaching Matt’s wrist restraints when Sylvia re-entered. “Oh don’t bother with those. He could do with the movement.” She addressed Matt directly, “don’t prove Baz right, okay?”

Sylvia’s reasoning worked, and Matt lay back and allowed her to reattach the IV line without protest. “Good boy,” she praised, ruffling his (now clean and fluffy) hair affectionately.

Later that day, Matt could hear the familiar heartbeat of Baz lurking outside his room. Sylvia shrieked from the other end of the hallway, “I told you to stay away for a bit,” and Baz retreated. Matt couldn’t say he trusted Sylvia, but her protective streak at least made him feel a little safer in her care. He curled up on his side, thankful for the freedom to move and at the same time hating that he was grateful for such an elementary freedom.

A little while later, they brought in a set of scales. “Up you get,” Sylvia ordered. “Chester, help him.” Matt angrily shook his arm out from Chester’s firm grip and limped over to the scales unassisted. Sylvia tutted as she read his weight. Matt was tempted to ask how much he weighed, but he wanted to seem aloof so he just stood there blankly.

A day passed, then another, and Baz stayed away as ordered. Matt gathered snippets of information, but nothing that explained Foggy’s presence. Maybe he just imagined it - he wanted it to be true so he dreamed it into being.

Matt now had the freedom to get up and move around, go to the toilet, stretch and exercise, but the lack of food had made him too weak to do anything other than lie there most of the time. The door was always locked, but they trusted him not to destroy the contents of the room. His IV was a whole other matter. After pulling his line out for the third time, he was restrained for the rest of the day, which convinced Matt that it just wasn’t worth it. Eventually, he agreed to leave it in and they released him from the restraints.

Sylvia kept trying to get him to eat. She gave up on the Energite and started bringing in various foods and drinks that she thought might tempt him into eating again. He was hungry, but resisting gave him a sense of control that was so rare in this place. Despite being locked in a room and constantly threatened, he felt oddly empowered by his decision not to eat to the point where he had to deliberately remind himself _why_ he was fasting.

* * *

 

Days passed and Foggy waited for the little old woman all night, every night. It got to the point where he was sleeping during the ‘day’ instead of night. Various aliens would come and go, but he only ever approached the tentacle - or ‘Clyde’ as he eventually named the alien. Clyde seemed thrilled with the designation. Foggy told Clyde about his family, about Star Trek and Dr Who (it turned out that Clyde was unfamiliar with both television series), and talked about Matt and their time at Columbia. He tried to ask Clyde about his own planet, but it was difficult to get a proper picture through tentacle movements alone. Most of the time, however, Foggy just sat in silence.

The marks on the wall grew and grew, and Foggy started to lose hope that Gloria would ever return and eventually questioned her very existence. With each day, he became more inactive until he stopped even approaching Clyde. He just lay there, alone, wondering if Matt was still doing the same thing. 

* * *

 

The doors to the medical centre swished open and the sound of crying echoed down the hallway. Matt held his breath, desperate to catch any and all sounds.

He heard Baz snap, "honestly, would you stop bawling already," as they entered the main treatment room. Eventually he heard a name: Mauro. It was Julia's one-time performance partner.

Eventually there was a slam of the door and more sobbing as Mauro was led towards the radiology room. Matt strained to hear what was going on, but the room was too well insulated. Fifteen minutes passed and Mauro was returned to a smaller room just down from Matt's. Until now, the rooms on this side of the double doors had remained empty save for the one Matt was in, and he'd been baffled as to why. If the elderly people were in the 'other unit' then this side might be reserved for the Galaxia if and when they were injured. The sheer number of rooms still had Matt confused.

From what Matt gathered, Mauro had injured himself training and broken a few bones. The crying seemed a bit over the top though. Mauro had always seemed so calm, so unruffled. Eventually they pumped Mauro with enough painkillers that he drifted off. As the sobbing ceased, Matt realised Mauro’s distress had affected him more than he knew. He forced himself to relax, unclenching his balled fists and calming his breathing.

Just as he’d obtained a reasonable level of equanimity, Chester wandered in and Matt automatically tensed again. He asked after Mauro and Chester bluntly replied, "look, mate, the key to surviving in this place is to not ask questions. The best thing you can do is pretend you don't even know he's here."

That sounded like a poor option to Matt, so he tried again when Sylvia next checked on him. "Oh, I always forget you can hear these things," she said absently. Matt could tell that was a lie, but he couldn't even begin to guess her motive.

"Can I speak to him?" Matt desperately wanted to know how Foggy was.

"Oh no, dear. Best not talk about it, okay? Whatever you do, don't mention it to Baz."

When Mauro next awoke, he started screaming and crying once again, this time saying over and over variations on "please don't make me a pet. I can train like this. Let me stay in the arena…"

Sylvia tried to calm him, "shh shh... don't worry about that. You need to rest. I'll get you more pain medication."

"No," Mauro sobbed.

Matt heard her whisper, "I'll keep you here as long as I can."

But Mauro didn’t seem to believe her. He begged again, “please, please… I don't want to be a pet."

"I know, love. I'll see what I can do,” she said kindly. “Now please let me give you more medication. You must be in pain. I can give you a sedative too if you'd like - just to calm you down. You need to rest. I promise you I won't let them take you." Mauro must have agreed because the sobbing ceased and Matt didn't hear anything for the rest of the day other than the Sylvia's occasional movement in and out of the room.

Mauro needed to be reassured that he was safe again and again over the next couple of days, but his anxiety didn't seem to lessen. If anything else, he was getting more frantic. Three days after Mauro arrived, Matt overheard Sylvia having a hissed exchange with Baz. He wanted Mauro moved, but Sylvia insisted on keeping him here.

"It's just a couple of broken bones, Sylv," Baz sneered.

"It's not. There are complications."

"Like what?"

"Are you the head of medicine or am I?" she snapped.

"I want to know why you're keeping him here,” he replied, tapping his foot impatiently.

"Actually you don't. I share records with you out of courtesy but I don't have to. I'm still treating him, and don't you dare try to go against me."

"Lousy investment," Baz grumbled.

"He's a person, Baz. Don't you forget it."

"Yeah well, you already have Matty. How many more of them do you want to hoard?"

"I'm not hoarding," she said with offence. "They're unwell."

"Matty's faking."

"So what if he is-"

"Ha! So you think he's faking," Baz said triumphantly.

"No, I didn't say that," Sylvia replied witheringly. "Whatever's going on with him, he still needs my help. He's a lovely boy. Very sensitive."

Of all the words Matt would use to describe himself, 'lovely' was not one of them, nor was ‘sensitive’.

"Yeah, yeah, he’s the son you never had," Baz taunted. "Are you saying that because you know he's listening or because you actually believe it to be true?"

"Oh come on, Baz, you adore him too. You'd never tolerate behaviour like that from most of the other Galaxia."

Before Matt could consider why he was somehow more ‘tolerated’, he heard a door slam as Baz stormed out of Sylvia’s room and into Mauro's.

"What's wrong with you?" Baz demanded.

"I-I don't know," Mauro whimpered. “They're just giving me stuff.”

"That's a lie," Baz said. “Tell me what your pseudo-diagnosis is.”

"Stop talking, stop talking," Matt whispered. Thankfully, Mauro had the same idea, and when he didn't answer, Baz barged out again. Matt then heard Baz lurking outside his own room and tried to look fast asleep. It seemed to work because Baz soon left without even opening the door. 

* * *

 

Foggy stumbled over to the shelf to find a fresh pile of shiny, highly pattered origami paper. He reached for it, running his hands over the embossed patterns. Matt would love the texture. Upset at the thought of Matt, he left the paper on the shelf and crept back to bed, one eye on the mirrored wall in case of extra-terrestrial petting zoo visitors. He’d never experienced such solitude before and even though he had blankets and plenty of food and origami paper, the isolation was absolutely punishing. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could last.

* * *

 

Matt had already failed to find a way out of his tiny room undetected, but with Mauro down the hall and the prospect of asking after Foggy, he tested the room again, assessing the locks on the door, and feeling the walls for doors and hatches. There was nothing. Over the next couple of days, he asked every new night attendant if he could talk to Mauro, or even go for a walk down the hallway, but they all parroted the same answer: 'no.' Eventually, Matt tried to escape out the door as an attendant was entering. He got as far as Mauro's locked door, frantically knocking on the windows. If Mauro heard him, he didn't respond – or at least not before Matt was reduced to a writhing heap as the attendant activated the crippling high-pitched sound.

Matt woke up the next morning, restrained and dry-mouthed from the sedatives. Chester was fitting earphones over his ears, taping them to his head so as to keep them in place. He could hear the screams of protest down the hallway as Mauro was led out of the Medical Centre, and then it was quiet, save for the steady drumbeat of the angry 90s grunge rock playing through the earphones. Matt retched, but having nothing in his stomach to vomit, he merely ended up with a burning throat and a stream of tears down his cheeks. He’d failed again. What hope did he have of escaping the compound if he couldn’t even get to an adjacent room?

Sylvia tutted when she wandered in soon afterwards and saw him rumpled on the bed, his mouth crusty and dry, and his hair sticking up at odd angles. She pulled the earphones and restraints off him and helped him into the bathroom, grabbing a towel and roughly wiping his face. He wanted desperately to have a shower, but Sylvia had other plans first.

“Get on the scales, love,” Sylvia ordered. Matt sighed and got off the bed with a stumble. “Nup,” she said to herself as she read the result. “Look, Matty, I’m going to be honest with you. If you don’t eat something right this minute, we’re going to stick a tube down your throat.”

“Like- like a duck?” Matt whispered. He’d never heard of such a thing done to a person.

“Well, we’re not going to eat you afterwards, so it’s not quite the same thing.”

“No-no, I don’t want it.”

“So eat something,” she said with an edge of impatience.

Matt shook his head. “You can’t make me.”

“I’m not going to let you die, Matty. You’re withering away and I can’t protect you forever. Are you sure I can’t get you some food? Anything you want.”

Matt pursed his lips.

“The procedure’s not comfortable you know, and we have to take you to the room where you had the x-ray. You don’t like that room.” Somehow she thought threats like that could still work on him, even though he’d endured far worse than an onslaught of radiation.

“I’ll give you an hour to think it over, love,” she said, patting him on the arm.

The idea of being fed like a duck to the slaughter repulsed him, but the radiography room was near the doors to the other unit. Perhaps this was his opportunity to finally solve the mystery of the elderly people. He resolved to give the fact finding mission one last go. If he didn’t find anything, he’d give up and return to Foggy.

An hour later, Matt found himself following Sylvia and Chester to radiology. They hadn’t restrained him, but evidently Sylvia didn’t trust him that much because one of Baz’s muscly lackeys lurked closely behind. As the radiology door closed behind him, Matt panicked and tried to run away. But the door was locked and he ended up in a corner, fists up and swaying slightly from the exertion of walking down the hallway. He’d become so weak that he could hardly defend himself.

“Chester, Tom, can you grab him before he hurts himself,” Sylvia said wearily. Matt got one punch in before he was wrestled to the ground, kicking and writhing. Sylvia pulled a syringe from her pocket and pushed it into Matt’s IV cannula. “I should have done this earlier, love. It’s just something to calm you.” A wave of dizziness washed over him and he squirmed a little more in protest. His head felt fuzzy and he lay there unmoving for a moment, trying to gather the energy to push back. They picked him up off the floor and helped him over to the chair.

“Nooo… please,” He pleaded, weakly kicking and twisting as they strapped his arms and chest to the chair. Sylvia pulled up his gown and rubbed some cold gel on his chest and stomach, admonishing him when he almost kneed her in the chin.

Chester tried to thread the tube up Matt’s nostril, but he jerked away. “Tom, can you take some initiative please,” Sylvia snapped. “Hold his head.” Large hands held his head in a vice-like grip and despite Matt’s efforts, he didn’t have the strength to resist. Chester started to thread the tube up Matt’s nose and he retched as it hit the back of his throat. “Swallow for me Matty. Keep swallowing,” Sylvia said encouragingly as she ran something over his stomach. Matt panicked at the sensation of the tube down his throat. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He retched again and again, tears running down his cheeks. “Swallow, love. It’ll be over soon, just swallow.” Matt tried to breath through the panic, swallowing between retches. “Good boy. That’s it.” Chester tried to tape the end of the tube to Matt’s cheek, but Matt’s tears made it impossible. He grabbed a nearby towel and roughly wiped Matt’s cheeks before trying again.

“Good boy,” Sylvia repeated. “We’ll take you back now.” Distressed, Matt kept sobbing as they released him from the chair. They helped him out the door, but as they started down the hallway, Matt stopped. He could hear a discordant Happy Birthday being sung from beyond the double doors. “ _Hip hip hooray! Hip hip hurray_!” the people in the other unit sung.

“Do you need a wheelchair, mate?” Chester asked.

“Uh, um…” Matt trained his ears back to the group.

“ _130,_ ” someone gushed. “ _I never thought I’d see it happen._ ”

“-better get a wheelchair.”

“ _I believed. I just wish I was dancing on my birthday, rather than sitting in bed_.”

 _“You’ll get better. You’re a groundbreaker_.”

“Here, mate, sit down,” Chester said. The chair nudged the back of his legs and he fell into it.

“ _Gloria’s next. 130 next month._ ”

“ _And she’s still dancing, the wily minx._ ”

The voices got fainter as Matt was wheeled back to his room. He kicked and squirmed as they helped him onto the bed.

“Here, Matty,” Sylvia said softly, “give me your hands.” She wrapped them in the restraint cuffs and fiddled with the feeding tube. Matt kept squirming as the tube went cold. His sinuses ached and he arched his back in protest. “Sorry love, I just have to flush the line.” A second bag was hung on his IV pole and attached to the feeding tube and he lashed out angrily. “Matty, stop. You’re going to hurt yourself.” But Matt wasn’t listening. He continued to thrash and kick. Sylvia retrieved another syringe and pushed it into his IV. He felt another wave of fuzziness and fell unconscious. 

* * *

 

More often than not, Matt’s dreams had visual elements thanks to nine years worth of visual memory. It was sometimes as small as a flash of colour, or an abstract environment. Often it was a throwback to his childhood - he saw his father, his old neighbourhood. Sometimes elements of his current life – sounds mostly – made their way into the mix.

He was standing in the living room of his childhood apartment, waiting for his dad to come home from the fight. The television was still on with annoying analysis interrupted by the occasional ad for booze or payday loans. Over the top of the commentators, Foggy started speaking from the television. Matt could smell Foggy wafting out from the set as he spoke, “Matt? Matt, can you hear me?”

Matt shifted uncomfortably in the bed.

“Matt, it’s Foggy.”

Matt opened his eyes. What was going on?

“Matt, can you hear me? It’s Foggy.”

Matt raised his head, gagging slightly as the tube moved in his throat. That’s right, the feeding tube. Whatever they were feeding him had made his stomach heavy, swollen and uncomfortable. It felt odd to have something in there after so many weeks of fasting.

“Matt?”

Matt scrunched his face up in confusion. They sedated him. He was hallucinating.

“Matt, can you hear me?”

His senses were still fuzzy, but he could sense two figures on the other side of the glass. He tried to roll over but his wrists were still shackled to the bed and he pulled on them redundantly. He angled his face towards Foggy to indicate he was listening.

“Matt, if you can hear me, um, I don’t know what’s going on. I thought you were at the arena with the others. I’ve been stuck in a room on my own but this woman helped me find you. Um, they made me a pet.” He stared at Matt who was lying there motionless, hair sticking up every which way. “Can you speak?”

“Foggy,” Matt croaked, but the soundproofing worked the other way too and Foggy’s hearing wasn’t good enough to hear him.

“I can’t hear you,” Foggy. “Nod if you can understand me.”

Matt nodded.

“Are you okay?”

Matt couldn’t say yes, but he didn’t want to say no and worry Foggy either. So he lay there still.

“Is that a Matt Murdock-style ‘no’?”

Matt gave a small smile and nodded. Foggy knew him too well. He had to give Foggy that one.

“You have a tube down your throat,” Foggy observed.

Another nod.

“Are you sick?”

Matt paused then shook his head.

“Are you still not eating?”

Matt nodded, then tried to point to the bag, twisting his hand awkwardly around the restraints.

“Why, Matt. Why?” Foggy said anxiously.

Even if Matt could talk, he couldn’t have explained why he was still persisting with his daft plan. He’d got some information over the weeks, but it was totally disproportionate to his suffering. He was embarrassed that Foggy could see him like this. He felt pathetic.

“Maybe if you eat something you’ll go back to the arena and I’ll be returned too. Matt, I can’t cope with the solitude anymore. I need to be around people. I need _you_. You’re my only hope.”

A couple of tears ran down Matt’s cheeks. He didn’t realise Foggy was being punished for his actions. He assumed the-costume making had earned Foggy an important place in the arena. But Foggy had been made a pet, and it was all Matt’s fault.

“Gloria can help us escape,” Foggy said.

Matt snapped to attention. Gloria. He’d heard that name mentioned before.

“I never said that,” the woman corrected. “That’s outside my capabilities.”

“There are other people here, Matt. Good people like Gloria.” She ducked her head, embarrassed by Foggy’s words.

Matt licked the salty tears from his lips, but more formed almost immediately.

“Can you eat something for me? Please? I need you.”

Matt eventually nodded and Foggy let out a hissed “yes” of triumph.

“Gloria will make sure we’re back together, won’t you Gloria?”

“I – I can try. But we have to go now.”

“A little longer,” Foggy begged. He tried to think of what to say to Matt in this one-way conversation. He really only had the aliens. “There’s one alien – I call him Clyde…” Matt inwardly laughed. Trust Foggy to make friends with an alien. He could make friends anywhere and with anyone. He listened to Foggy prattle on about the aliens and the cage for a few minutes until Gloria insisted they leave.

“Promise me you’ll eat,” Foggy said one last time.

Matt mouthed, “I promise.” 

* * *

 

To Sylvia’s delight, Matt requested real food the next day. The tube was eventually removed and he started eating more and more until Sylvia was convinced he could re-join the Galaxia. “I want Foggy though,” Matt said. Only if Foggy’s there. Otherwise I’ll lose my appetite again.”

“That’s no way to act after all the care we’ve given you. You mustn’t threaten like that.” Matt was shocked at Sylvia’s change in tone. He’d become used to her loving caring side.

“I-I just meant that I don’t eat when I’m depressed and Foggy helps my depression.”

Sylvia eyed him suspiciously. “So why not eat before? You could have been back with him earlier than this.”

Matt shrugged. “I missed Julia.”

Sylvia still seemed unconvinced.

Later, he heard a whispered conversation between her and Tom. He caught bits of it. It was about him and Foggy, but he couldn’t hear the specifics.

Eventually Tom entered the room carrying a clean bodysuit. “Put this on, mate. You’re being sprung.” Matt was surprised that Baz’s idiot lackey was taking charge, but he didn’t dare ask for Baz’s whereabouts. The less interaction with Baz the better.

Sylvia gave Matt a pat on the head as he left the centre. “Be a good boy now,” she said and Matt buried his loathing of her condescending words enough to smile at her. Best to keep up appearances.

Tom led Matt up the curved stairs. “Where are we going?” Matt asked, confused about the sudden presence of stairs.

“To your bestie. You can spend some time with him just to see what you’re not missing out on.”

He unlocked a small door and pushed Matt into the tiny room that housed his best friend. Foggy could barely believe his eyes. He rushed at Matt and squeezed him tight. “Ow, your ribs,” he said as he pulled away.

Matt stood there as stiff as a board, overwhelmed by the situation. He’d been dreaming of the moment he’d see Foggy again, but now he felt awkward around him after all this time apart. Plus he certainly didn’t expect to be reassigned as a pet.

Matt swayed a little, light-headed. “You don’t look so well,” Foggy said, alarmed. “Come sit down.” Foggy pulled Matt over to the single bed. With a slightly bitter edge, Foggy added, “and once you’re feeling better you can tell me if you found what you were looking for.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: force feeding using medical means.


	16. Tentaculum

“So, did you find what you wanted to find?” Foggy asked again after Matt had calmed down.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you’re both vain and mad enough that you wouldn’t replace abs with ribs without some sort of crazy end game. Plus as soon as you found out I was a pet, you started eating again.”

“Foggy, you don’t-”

“I don’t understand, yes I know,” Foggy said sarcastically. Foggy thought for a moment. It was sometimes best not to push Matt, so he sighed and said, “tell me when you’re ready.” They sat there in silence for a few minutes before Foggy leaned over and patted Matt’s torso. “I miss your abs.”

“Me too,” Matt said with a wan smile.

A couple of plates arrived on the shelf almost immediately. “Well, you can start by putting a few more layers over those ribs,” Foggy said, fetching the plates and handing Matt his.

“You got gravy,” Matt said, smiling.

“Seriously?” Foggy said, plonking himself back on the bed. “Food appears like magic and you comment on the gravy?”

“I just thought about you and gravy quite a bit.”

“Batshit mad,” Foggy said affectionately, stabbing a potato with his flimsy plastic fork. Matt leaned sideways against Foggy and rested his head on Foggy’s shoulder, enjoying the sound of Foggy munching on the potato.

Foggy smiled to himself. He wanted to stay like that forever, but he could feel Matt’s bony shoulder and worried that Matt would reject the food if it got cold. “Eat,” Foggy ordered.

Matt poked at his food and sniffed it.

“They know what you ordered in the ref,” Foggy reminded him.

“Mmm, yeah. It’s just creepy, you know?”

“Uh huh.”

 

* * *

 

“Do you think they’re going to leave us in here together?” Foggy asked after they’d eaten and Matt had lurked by the disappearing shelf for an hour, determined to pick up any kind of information possible.

“The guy who led me in here said ‘for awhile’,” Matt said, quickly adding, “I don’t know what that means.”

“One bed, two people. I guess we’re not sleeping here - both of us, that is.”

“Thank you, Mr Obvious,” Matt said, although it wasn’t unkind. He paced the tiny room a few times before turning to Foggy. “What did you do in here?”

“Come here,” Foggy said, patting the bed. He led Matt’s hand to the marks Foggy had scratched into the wall. Matt felt each mark individually, paying his respects to the time Foggy suffered as a pet. Then he started feeling the rest of the wall, standing up and walking around the room.

“What can you feel?” Foggy said enthusiastically.

Matt gave a bitter laugh. “The marks of pets past. Painted over but not completely erased.”

“Oh.” Foggy already knew that. He’d hoped there was something else, something more they could use.

“There are drawings too.” He ran his finger in a curve. “Here. It’s like a tentacle.”

“A tentacle? Ha!”

“Come over here,” Matt beckoned. “I’ll show you.” But just as Foggy reached him, Matt stopped and tilted his head down, listening.

There was a scraping sound and a stubby alien limb threaded its way through a porthole.

“What’s going on?” Matt said, confused.

“It’s an alien”, Foggy said matter-of-factly, as if it were a completely normal occurrence. “Hey, can you sense the rest of the body through the wall?”

Matt laughed. He leaned close to Foggy and whispered, “it’s not an alien, Foggy. It’s a human. He’s wearing a prosthesis.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.” Foggy went to attack the prothesis, but Matt quickly grabbed him.

“You mustn’t,” Matt murmured. “Not yet.”

“I can’t believe I’m being told to settle down by Matthew Murdock,” Foggy grumbled.

 

* * *

 

The initial excitement of their reunion quickly waned, leaving them both bored and worried. They ended up back on the bed, sitting against the wall in silence once again.

“The lights just dimmed,” Foggy said.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, in this artificial hellhole, the lights designate night and day. It just switched to night.” Foggy glanced over to the shelf briefly, which had become the visual representation of his keepers. “I guess they’re planning to leave us here with just one bed. What do you think’s going on?”

“The guy who dumped me in here said it was to _see what I’m not missing out on_ or something.”

“Huh. Oh well, I’m glad I have you, even if it’s some weird psychological play.”

“It’s the psychological Olympics,” Matt grumbled, getting up. “Can the blanket stretch to the floor?”

Foggy realised what he was asking, “oh no, you’re not taking the floor. You have no padding - you’re all ribs and skin. I’ll take the floor.”

“I’m not displacing you from your own bed.”

“With you as skinny as you are, we could always share,” Foggy pointed out. “We’ll just sleep as we are now.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Pfft, of course not,” Foggy said, a little irritated at Matt’s ‘I’m not worthy’ attitude.

Matt was first to fall asleep, leaning against Foggy’s shoulder all sweet and innocent looking. Foggy looked up as he heard a sound from the corner. The tentacle was waving around in the darkness.

“Matt,” Foggy whispered. “Matt.”

“Nggh,” Matt responded, half-asleep.

“Wake up.”

“Why?” Matt groaned.

“It’s Clyde.”

Matt opened his eyes immediately. Foggy watched as his friend tilted his head forward, concentrating intently on the waving limb. Matt slowly slid off the bed and walked over to the tentacle, reaching out and running his fingers along its length.

“Why are you doing this, Gloria?” Matt eventually whispered.

Even with normal hearing, Foggy could hear the hitched breath from beyond the mirrored wall.

The tentacle kept waving, even as Gloria whispered a reply. “I don’t want to. Not any more.”

Foggy’s mouth dropped. Clyde, the alien he’d confessed his fears, worries and sadness to, was actually Gloria. No wonder she helped him visit Matt.

“What is your involvement here?” Matt said, going straight to the point.

“I’m an investor in Infinito 6. It’s an experiment in human longevity. Your performances – the risk – it increases our lifespan.”

“At the expense of our lives,” Matt said angrily.

“Yes, that young woman. It was unfortunate.”

Foggy laughed bitterly. “Unfortunate?”

“You’re about to turn 130,” Matt interrupted, joining the dots between the conversation overheard from the radiography room and the woman on the other side of the glass. “You like dancing.”

“Y-yes. How do you know?”

“I have good hearing.”

“They can’t know you know,” she said, a wetness in her breath. “I can’t help you any more.” Matt could hear the creak of old joints as she stood up. The tentacle stopped moving.

Matt spoke quickly. “You have an obligation to free us, Gloria. It’s criminal to keep us locked up like this.”

She paused, then said softly, “they said you liked being here - that they saved you from terrible situations.”

“They also told us we were performing for aliens. They – whoever _they_ are- they lie, they manipulate, and you’re just as guilty,” Matt pointed out.

Gloria cleared her throat. “They said it would be easier to break – d-distance yourselves from your former lives. So they make us wear these costumes when interacting with you. I didn’t like the idea of pets at first but I miss my grandson, and Foggy dear, you look so like…” she petered off.

“You need to let us go,” Matt said firmly.

“I can’t. They allowed me to take Foggy to see you, but I-”

Foggy stepped towards the glass. “Hang on, they knew I was wandering around with you?”

“Y-yes.”

“And they know you’re talking to us now?”

“I - I don’t think so. I wanted to come – to see you - I wanted to see you both together, happy.”

“We have different interpretations of the word happy,” Matt said bitterly. “Happy would be standing outside in the fresh air.”

“You would burn up in the heat,” she said.

“That’s a lie,” Matt said.

“I have to go,” Gloria said quickly.

Matt and Foggy sat in silence for a few minutes, digesting the conversation. “Do you think they overheard that?”

Matt shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Because if they did, maybe Gloria was pretending not to be able to help us.”

“Fog, um, I think she was telling the truth. I’m sorry”

“Oh.” They sat in silence for a little longer before Foggy reached for Matt’s hand. “Come on,” he said, pulling Matt towards the bed. “Let’s sleep.”

 

* * *

 

The next morning they awoke in a tangle of limbs. They’d somehow both ended up horizontal, which was arguably more comfortable than their original seated position. However, two grown men don’t really fit into a small single bed, despite Matt’s weight loss, and so they found themselves curled up in each other’s arms, desperately clinging onto each other. Unwilling to move, Matt nuzzled Foggy’s chest affectionately, just pleased to be in his company once again.

“I missed you,” Matt whispered.

“Me too,” Foggy mumbled back, squinting under the bright lights. He groaned as he sat up, reluctantly slithering out of Matt’s grasp so that he could wee. “I tell you what,” Foggy said as he flushed the toilet, “you get pretty unfazed by public nudity after a few months in this place.”

Matt shrugged. “I was never really fazed. It’s just a construction. No matter what I wear, I’m the subject of a one-way gaze. I wear clothes because it’s the done thing.”

“Bullshit,” Foggy chuckled, “you can’t tell me that you’d walk around New York naked if you could get away with it.”

Matt shrugged and tried to look nonchalant, but a small twitch of his mouth gave him away.

Foggy wandered over to the slot in the wall and called, “coffee?” Maybe the slot wasn’t always attended or maybe they wanted him to suffer, because nothing happened for quite some time. Eventually two breakfasts slid through and Foggy went straight for the coffee, downing it in one before returning his cup to the shelf with a request for more.

“You can do that?” Matt said.

The cup returned, now filled again with coffee. “Yeah, if you let an alien fondle you then you can ask for coffee, chocolate - beer even!”

Matt raised his eyebrows. “Beer?”

“Yeah but not books - oh hey!” Foggy spotted the tentacle threading its way into the room. Matt put down his egg, pleased that he had an excuse to abandon it for now – his stomach seemed to have shrunk over the last month and no amount of begging from Foggy would allow him to eat the same quantity he used to.

They both approached the tentacle and Foggy kneeled down to be petted. Matt wasn’t quite as certain and hung back well out of reach. His stance was one of someone ready to pounce if anything went awry.

“Are you going to help us?” Foggy whispered, leaning into the tentacle in an attempt to curry favour.

“I can’t,” they heard Gloria whisper. “I told you.”

The tentacle withdrew and Foggy looked absolutely devastated. After everything they told her, after knowing that they were unhappy and wanted to leave, Gloria was still unwilling to try. Foggy got up to return to his breakfast, but just as he turned his back, Matt hissed, “Foggy.” The tentacle had returned already. The curled tip waved frantically at the two men and rolling his eyes, Foggy returned to his kneeling position. The tentacle brushed over his chest and as it did so, a small card was dropped onto his lap. Foggy stared for a moment, confused, but Matt quickly hissed, “whatever it is, hide it quickly.”

“What is it?”

“Something electronic,” Matt said. “Is that an access card?” he whispered to Gloria.

The tentacle just bobbed a few times then rubbed itself over Foggy’s head and shoulders. He quickly shoved the card up his sleeve, holding his arm to his stomach to hide the rectangular form.

Tears welling, Foggy whispered, “thank you,” and the tentacle bobbed a few more times before retreating.

“Quick!” Matt said, moving towards the door. “Let’s go.”

“No, Matt.” He grabbed his arm. “Let’s just think about this for a second.”

“What’s to think about?”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Foggy whispered at a level only audible to Matt, “you’ve been smashing your hand against walls, starving yourself, getting into fights, all with the aim of escaping. You’ve found very little. In fact, I’ve discovered more just sitting here than you have doing all your hero self-sacrificial stunts.”

“They’re not stunts,” Matt hissed.

Foggy took a deep breath and whispered, “look, what I’m saying is we need to plan this. We don’t know what the keycard works on – her card didn’t open your room in the medical centre, for instance. Who knows whether this is her personal access card or what it’s programmed for. We need to not only get out of this room, but past all the guards or whatever without them crippling you. And then out the doors and somehow out of the desert. We need to make a plan. We need to be smart.”

Matt’s anger subsided a little as he realised Foggy was right. There were so many moving parts. Before they could even start to discuss it though, Baz barged in, red faced and livid.

“Out,” he commanded. Both of them backed against the wall. However much they wanted to leave the cell, they were equally as unwilling to engage with an angry and unpredictable Baz.

“Matty, come on,” Baz said. “Out.”

“No, I refuse – I’m not going without Foggy,” Matt said, chin in the air. He linked arms with Foggy just to make the point.

“Fine, both of you,” he snapped. The friends looked confused but eventually followed, Matt clinging onto Foggy’s arm. There was no way they were getting separated again.

He led them down the curved stairs and through the narrow corridors. “I leave for a couple of days and this happens,” he hissed. “You were never meant to be in there, Matty, I’m sorry.”

Matt screwed up his face. “You’re _sorry_?”

“My superstar. You’re too good to be a pet. We’ll get you back and fighting fit in no time, yes we will, yes, yes…” He ranted about incompetence and idiots as they followed a roundabout route, zigzagging and looping around. Matt tried to remember the exact path, but Baz was evidently trying to disorient them and prevent them from knowing the exact layout of the compound. Matt caught a whiff of the Medical Centre and his stomach rolled with association, but then they took a right and the smell faded. Eventually they ended back at the Galaxia quarters, and both friends sighed in relief as they passed through the double doors. Even though they were still completely captive, the Arena area was far preferable to the pet room and medical centre. It was no doubt a deliberate strategy used before. It was designed to be relative.

“You should probably have a bath, you two,” Baz said bluntly. “Oh and I’ll show you your new beds.”

Matt gripped Foggy’s arm a bit tighter as they followed Baz into the dorm. “Why – why new beds?” Matt stammered.

“We needed them for other recruits,” Baz said bluntly.

“What happened to – ah, the things on our bedside tables?” Matt said, thinking about not only his father’s jacket, but also Julia’s note.

“We cleared those out. You can make some more,” Baz said casually. They both knew that Matt didn’t really mean the origami.

Matt was shaking with rage, and Foggy pulled him tight to his side, whispering, “keep your cool. Breathe, think about the consequences of any actions.”

Matt swallowed, trying to keep his breathing in check. He knew Foggy was right, but he so needed to hit someone, anything. He could feel Baz’s gaze, watching, waiting for a reaction, and it was this expectation that made Matt determined not to hit out. Baz was clearly goading him, but for what reason, he really wasn’t sure.

“These ones,” Baz said pointing to a couple of beds along a wall. “I thought it best to keep you away from the bathroom, y’know, just in case you feel like punching the wall again, Matty.” He went to ruffle Matt’s hair and Matt stepped back with a scowl. “Meh, if you’re going to be like that,” Baz said as cool as a cucumber, and turned to wander off. As he left the dorms he yelled over his shoulder, “have a bath, you two. You smell like pole cats.”

Foggy lifted his arm and sniffed. “Really?”

“No,” Matt reassured him.

“Phew. I worried with your sense of smell and that small room and-”

“Foggy, it’s not an issue.” Matt sat on the bed and pulled Foggy down next to him. “We have other issues - like making origami for our bedside tables.”

Foggy laughed. “Of all your priorities you choose origami?”

“I know a modular pattern that has repeating rectangular folds that I’d like to show you,” Matt said, completely stone-faced.

“Oh, okay,” Foggy said slowly, cottoning on. “The clock indicates arena practice time and there’ll be no one else around. I guess we’re not expected in the arena straight away, so we might as well play with origami. We need to make it feel like home,” he added loudly.

Matt stood up and offered his arm to Foggy this time. “Come on, Mister Pole Cat,” he said in his poshest voice. Foggy jumped up and grabbed his arm with a smile, holding the sleeve with the keycard close to his stomach. Embedding it in bedside origami would be a risk, but hiding it in plain sight seemed far safer than any of the other options he’d come up with and instantly dismissed.

A couple of hours later, they placed the finished origami (complete with the hidden keycard) on Foggy’s bedside table like a prize and headed to the baths, both of them keen to avoid the post-Arena rush due to occur at any moment.

They were just climbing into the water when Elektra strode into the baths, accompanied by three unfamiliar faces, all of whom were wearing the bodysuits, but looking distinctly out of place. She headed straight for the two men, and said firmly, “Matt, we need to talk.”


	17. Stick

"Now?" Matt asked a little grumpily. He'd barely had time to readjust to being back amongst people and Elektra was already demanding things. The three individuals flanking her were solid enough for Matt to think twice about outright refusing though. He was quite aware of his current lack of muscle.

Before he could respond though, Sam and Natasha entered the baths. They groaned when they saw Matt and Foggy. "Not you again," Sam said in a loud enough voice that everyone in the room turned their heads.

“What’s the problem?” Matt said sweetly, but Foggy could feel Matt tense.

“Matt, no,” Foggy whispered. “Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

Sam stepped forward and raised his voice a little more, evidently pleased with the attention. “ _You’re_ the problem. You have been since the moment you came here.”

“You only say that because you’re green people,” Foggy snapped.

“Green people?” Natasha said derisively.

“Yeah, you don’t like red people.”

Foggy could see Yasmin shaking her head at him from across the room. “Please don’t,” she mouthed.

“What do you mean?”

Matt jumped in, “we’re red. You’re green. Opposites.”

“Shit,” Yasmin muttered.

There were murmurs around them as the Galaxia tried to work out what was going on. Whatever the case, the colour theory reflected the fractured community. It didn’t matter if Yasmin’s colours even existed – right now, the Galaxia _wanted_ them to exist. The existing Galaxia hierarchy had been turned on its head since Matt, Foggy and Elektra’s arrival. The three of them didn’t care about the social order, and this rebellion posed a threat to the Galaxia at the top.

"And what, all of you are red?” Sam said, thinking aloud. “So if green are the enemies of red…"

"No, that's not true," Yasmin interrupted, "that's not how the colours work." But Sam gave her a death glare and she shut up.

Elektra glowered at Sam. "Like we care what you think," she sneered. "Come on," she said to Matt. "Get dressed."

Matt and Foggy scrambled out of the baths and slipped into fresh bodysuits. Matt noted that the body suit in his personal shelf still fitted him, indicating that the powers that be had already calculated his new, reduced body size. It was more than a little bit creepy.

Foggy, Matt, Elektra and the three new recruits wandered into the ref, which was almost completely empty at this time of the day. Mop trailed behind the group, feeling excluded from both the red people and the rest of the Galaxia.

It was well established by now that the easiest way to hide conversation was by eating at the same time, so they lined up at the vending machine to order dinner. Elektra introduced the new people as more of Stick's protégés: Tammy, Hussein and Mike.

As they were walking over to the table, Foggy hissed, "so let's get this straight: I'm the only one in this group who doesn't have ninja training?"

"It's not ninja training, Foggy," Matt replied.

"Okay, you can all fight."

"I'll protect you," Matt said affectionately, gently bumping shoulders with Foggy.

As soon as they sat down, Elektra telepathically told them all, "so let's go over the plan for Matt's sake-"

"And Foggy's," corrected.

But Foggy didn't care about being left out right now. Instead, he sat there, mouth open, stunned and terrified at Elektra's telepathy.

"Foggy?" Matt said, putting his hand on Foggy's arm.

"How did you do that?" Foggy whispered. “There were wo-words - in my head.”

"Get over it," Elektra projected, and immediately received a scowl most horrible from Matt.

Matt elbowed Foggy, and whispered, "eat” before taking a deliberate mouthful of carrot. He chewed it carefully, whispering between bites, "you have a plan to escape?"

"Of course we have a plan," Elektra projected, rolling her eyes.

"Okay, let's hear it."

Elektra described the series of sensors and cameras they'd pinpointed within the compound, as well as the vents that could potentially be used to fog them as previously threatened. These vents were small nozzles distributed throughout the rooms, separate from the regular air distribution vents. The plan involved all of them covering the vents at once, with one person having to quickly jump from one to another.

"Why not use someone else?" Matt said between mouthfuls.

"We don't trust anyone else."

"What about Mop?" Foggy suggested, looking to the corner table where Mop was picking at his food.

"No," Elektra said flatly.

"It's risky to leave a nozzle uncovered even for a short time," Matt whispered between bites of fish.

"No, Matt," Elektra repeated, more forcefully this time.

Tammy joined in, "it'd be much better with an extra person, but how do you know he's to be trusted?"

"Believe me, he hates this place even more than we do."

"That doesn't mean he can be trusted."

Matt whispered to Foggy, "can you get Mop to come over here? I can tell if he's lying."

Foggy wandered to the corner. "Do you want to join us?" He said with a smile.

Mop shook his head.

"Please?" Foggy said more forcefully, causing Mop to snap to attention.

Mop narrowed his eyes. "Why? What do you want?"

"Ah… your advice?"

Mop slowly and cautiously picked up his tray and followed Foggy to the table where he underwent a gruelling series of questions from Elektra and Hussein. Apparently he passed because they told him about the nozzles. It turned out that Elektra couldn't project to Mop (which they deduced was a colour thing seeing that Mop was purple), so Foggy had to repeat the less sensitive details to Mop as they went.

Matt asked Elektra, “so once the nozzles are blocked, then what?”

“We go for Baz. He has a swipecard and all areas access. It’ll be me and Hussein,” Elektra added. “You and Mike are vulnerable because of your hearing. As far as we can tell, he doesn’t have any other weapons.”

Matt frowned. “Mike, you have enhanced hearing as well?”

“Amongst other things, yes,” he whispered back.

“Anyone would think Stick was training a blind army,” Foggy said without tact.

Matt stopped chewing his bean. “What did you say?”

“He’s blind, Matt - like you. Well, not like you, but similar.” Unlike Matt and Julia, Mike’s eyes were cloudy, which made his blindness instantly recognisable. “Can’t you tell?”

“We don’t put out some kind of radar, Foggy,” Matt retorted.

“Yeah,” Mike muttered in agreement.

“Are you guys done?” Elektra said pointedly.

“If you’re after a keycard,” Matt whispered, “Foggy obtained one.”

Everyone at the table apart from Matt and Mike immediately turned and stared at Foggy, who shrunk back at the attention.

When no one spoke, Matt added, “he made friends with an alien that turned out to be an elderly woman.”

“They’re not aliens,” Foggy added. “Did you know?”

“Hussein said,” Elektra said.

“Hussein, how did you know?” Matt demanded.

“Stick told us.”

“Stick? Stick knows about this place?” Matt spat, earning a hissed shushing from Elektra.

“He sent us,” Hussein muttered as if were the most obvious thing in the world. “Baz took the bait.”

Matt said indignantly, “why doesn’t he come himself, the-” But he broke off as he heard someone yelling outside the compound.

“What?” Elektra said to Matt.

“Can you hear that?” Matt said to Mike.

“Hear what?” Foggy asked.

“They’re panicking because the lights are out,” Matt explained. “I don’t know what that means though.”

“It means Stick’s arrived,” Mike said with a smile.

 

Elektra quickly projected, “You'll find a plug under your plate for the small vents. We're going to finish our meal now and make our way to our respective vents. Matthew and-” she hesitated, not wanting to acknowledge Foggy’s involvement "-Foggy, you need to stay together until the last moment. Anything else will arouse suspicion. Foggy, you have two plugs under your plate. Give one of them to Mop and repeat what I just told you - _with discretion_. Tell him to look at Hussein for the prompt. The rest of you will hear me - so to speak."

Foggy glared at her. Of course he knew to use discretion. 

She continued, "make sure you hammer it in well. We're assuming that Baz's arrogance will outweigh self-preservation, and therefore he'll want to be in the area himself. So Hussein and I will take him out first. Matthew, you said you have a swipecard-"

"Foggy got it," Matt corrected as he chewed another carrot.

"Where is it?"

"Near our nozzles in the dorms," Matt said vaguely. He still didn't trust her. "We'll get it in a moment."

"And do you know which doors it activates?"

"No."

"Does it actually work?"

"Uh, we're not sure."

"You haven't tried it?"

"We didn't want to arouse suspicion - not without a plan in place. We've had it for less than 24 hours."

Elektra was clearly unimpressed, but she continued. "In that case, we'll assume it doesn't work and continue with our original plan."

Mike interrupted, "Stick's just taken out the back-up guards outside. We need to go. _Now._ "

Foggy whispered quickly to Mop, who nodded and left for his nozzle straight away.

Foggy and Matt linked hands and hurried back to their origami sculpture. Foggy asked, "do we take it out of the paper or just carry the entire thing?"

"Taking it out will be easier, but they could spot the card in your suit."

"Y-you want me to take the card?"

"Yes, you earned it, Foggy."

"But I'm the weakest."

"Not as long as we're together. We make each other stronger." Matt gave Foggy’s hand a squeeze.

Foggy bit his lip. "We're really doing this huh."

Matt tilted his head, listening to Stick mow his way through guard after guard. "Get to your nozzle, Fog."

Seconds later, they heard Elektra project, "plugs, now," and Foggy shoved his plug hard into the nozzle, giving it a few hard punches just to make sure it was in. He'd hate to be responsible for the group getting fogged.

"Foggy, quick," Matt whispered, gesturing to him to follow. As Foggy reached him, Matt withdrew a fork from his sleeve and pegged it at the corner of the ceiling where it smashed a surveillance camera. It was quickly followed by a knife thrown at the other corner.

Foggy whistled under his breath in awe. "Fuck you're scary sometimes," he told Matt, giving him an affectionate pat on the shoulder.

Matt grinned, and pulled Foggy towards the entrance to the dorm where they waited flat against a wall.

"Baz," Matt whispered to Foggy. "He’s in the rec room. Hussein and Elektra are - oh, that was easy."

"What happened?"

"He's out - but, oh- there are others. Stay here." Matt made to join the others, but Foggy pulled him back. "I can't just hide."

"You need to keep the keycard safe until I tell you to come," Matt instructed.

Foggy wasn't happy with the arrangement, but he knew he wouldn't stand a chance against most of the security staff.

There was a lot of yelling, banging and crashing as Matt took on the security guards coming through the main entrance to the Galaxia quarters. The others were still in the rec room, which left Matt to single-handedly battle the new arrivals. But it didn’t seem to worry him. Foggy stuck his head around the corner just in time to see Matt spin through the air and kick a guard in the chest, using him as a springboard to launch sideways and punch another man in the head. Every time Foggy thought he'd seen the limits of Matt's abilities, the guy seemed to perform a feat even more incredible. Another guard arrived through a side door and ran at Matt, who was still battling the two others. Foggy watched in horror as one of them managed to hit a momentarily distracted Matt in the shoulder. Foggy was about to run in to help when a wiry old man leaped through the side door, taking the third man down without effort. Matt paused for a moment, and one of the guards used the opportunity to launch at Matt once again. Matt sprung sideways and the attacker stumbled forward, providing Matt with the opportunity to throw him at the wall and then take out the second guard with a single blow to the jaw.

"Nice one, Matty," the old man drawled.

"Stick," Matt breathed.

Foggy narrowed his eyes. So that was famous Stick - the guy who trained all the other red people and was essentially the reason why they were targeted by Infinito 6.

 

"How did you get in here?" Matt said, still puffing from the fight. He felt seriously unfit.

"It wasn't hard,” Stick sneered, “these idiots fight like three year olds."

"No, I mean how did you get through the desert."

"You mean the heat lamps and the sand outside? I thought you were smarter than that, Matty."

Matt cringed at the use of his pet name. Baz had well and truly ruined it for him.

"Where are we then?"

"Upstate."

"What? New York?"

"No, Siberia," Stick said sarcastically. "What do you think?"

"I-I don't-"

"Told you," Foggy whispered at Matt from around the corner.

Stick continued. "I thought you'd be able to get out of this place yourself, but apparently not. Had to send some of my people in to rescue you and Ellie." He said under his breath, "idiots."

"I heard that you know," Matt said to Stick.

Stick just stood there looking smug. Rescuer or not, Foggy already loathed this man. It was surprising Matt wasn't more loathsome considering this was his mentor and respected teacher.

"You want to stand here and chat or do you want to get out of here?" Stick said. He reached down into one of the guard's pockets and withdrew a keycard. Matt did the same with another of the unconscious men before beckoning at the intimidated Foggy who was still holding the origami sculpture. Matt swiped the panel controlling the main double doors to the Galaxia quarters, but nothing happened. Stick's card didn't work either. Foggy trotted over and held the origami sculpture up to the panel. The doors slid open just as the others started to join them in the entrance area.

"Are the rest of the Galaxia coming?" Matt asked.

"Who cares," Elektra replied, but Matt was already running into the rec area to round up the others.

"We have the doors open. Come!" he yelled at the others.

Sam dropped down from the climbing ropes. "No."

"What do you mean, no?" he choked, confused.

"We don't want to go with you."

"Why? Don't you want to leave?"

"That's if you get that far," Sam scoffed.

"It's not desert. We're in America."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Do you believe this guy?" he said to the rest of the Galaxia with a forced laugh. 

Natasha wandered forward, arms crossed and stood next to Sam. "You think you're so special with your posse. I'm glad you're going. We're _all_ glad you’re going."

A few other Galaxia murmured in assent.

Matt let out a strangled huff of frustration and turned on his heels, running out to join the others. "See ya, Devil. Have fun in hell," Sam yelled after him.

"Matt, come on," Elektra hissed. The group was waiting impatiently at the door. They crept into the hallway, expecting to be accosted by more security. Yet it was empty.

"Why didn't the others come?" Foggy whispered.

"They're scared, Foggy," Matt replied. "And I think they think this place is the best they're going to get... or something. I don't know."

"This way," Mike whispered and they started to follow as a group.

Matt suddenly pulled Foggy aside. "I have to find Mauro."

"Huh?"

"He's a pet. They took him there after the medical centre. I have to rescue him."

"I don’t know what you’re talking about, Matt, but we don't have time."

"Give me the origami."

"No."

Matt quickly tapped Foggy’s hand from below, and the origami flew into the air. Matt caught it easily and ran off down the hallway perpendicular to the one Mike and the others were following. Without a second thought, Foggy followed. He whisper yelled, "slow down," as he struggled to keep up. Matt easily found the curved staircase to the pet enclosures and bounded up three steps at a time.

"What is it?" Foggy puffed as he ran up behind Matt, who had inexplicitly stopped at the top of the stairs. "Oh." Foggy's mouth dropped as he spotted Gloria in the hallway.

"What's going on, Gloria? Is this a trap?" Foggy whispered.

Gloria shook her head. 

"Which room's Mauro's?" Matt asked, not caring about anything but the rescue.

Gloria pointed down the hallway. "Third one along. You reach it via the back - down the corridor to your right."

Matt took off, but Foggy stood there opposite Gloria, staring.

"Thanks for the keycard," he said.

Gloria shrugged. "You remind me of my grandson."

"Where's your grandson now?"

"Oh he died a few years ago. He was 91."

Foggy baulked. But then he did the maths. If Gloria was 130 then...

"What will happen to you if they find out you, you know-"

"I don't know," she sighed. "But I'm tired. My friends, my family - they're all dead. My involvement in this experiment - I don't think I want to be involved anymore. "

"Do you want to come with us?" Foggy offered. "We can get you out."

"I'll slow you down," she pointed out. "No, I knew when I bought into this experiment that I'd never leave. I've accepted that. And besides, I’ve lived long enough. I’m not afraid. I’ve made my peace with death."

Matt returned with a slightly limping Mauro. Shoving the origami at Foggy, Matt said, "come on. Let's go."

"Goodbye, Gloria," Foggy said with a wave.

"Goodbye, Jonathan," she replied.

"But-" Mauro started, but Foggy shushed him and started down the stairs after Matt.

Once they were out of earshot, Foggy whispered, "she thinks I'm her grandson, or something - I don't know. It doesn't matter."

"Which way, Matt?" Foggy said when they got to an intersection. Matt noticeably sniffed a couple of times (as you do), and pointed, "this way," running as fast as he could down the central corridor. They zigzagged through the narrow hallways until they burst out into a larger corridor. Matt stopped again, tilted his head, and then darted right. There they found the rest of the group huddled in a small nook. They were hiding from Matt, Foggy and Mauro, who they assumed were approaching guards.

"Where did you go?" Elektra projected.

"To get Mauro," Matt whispered.

“Bleeding heart,” Elektra mocked. “The exit is behind you - down that corridor. Do you have the card?"

"Yeah," Foggy murmured, holding up the origami.

Elektra scowled at Foggy. Foggy scowled back.

"Come on," Matt said, pulling Foggy towards the series of rooms through which they’d arrived months earlier. Foggy swiped the security panel and the double doors slowly opened. Foggy ran to the next panel, but this time the swipe didn't work.

“How many are there?” Matt whispered.

“How many what?”

“Doors. I was unconscious when we arrived, remember?”

“Oh,” Foggy paused. “Um, I think there were three, or four – yes, I’m pretty sure it was four.”

"There were four,” Tammy interrupted. “We probably have to wait until the doors close before the next ones will open.”

Matt noticed a very significant absence just as the doors closed behind them. "Where's Stick?" he said, panicked.

"Shit," Hussein said under his breath. "Open the doors again," he instructed Foggy.

“You can't,” Elektra interrupted. “How do we even find him in this place? Besides, he's an old man. One old man versus all of us.”

"How can you-" Matt growled, incensed. "He gave you so much. He gave me _everything_. I have to find him." Matt dashed to the door, "Foggy, open it."

"No, Foggy," Elektra yelled.

Foggy looked from one to another. Matt was giving him an expression that made him want to weep. Foggy swiped the panel to take them back into the compound, but there was no response. 

"Try again. Closer." Matt demanded.

Foggy crushed the origami a little and tried again, but again, nothing happened.

"Try this one again," Tammy said, tapping the panel that would allow them to advance.

Matt let out a small whine at the dilemma, which tore at Foggy’s heartstrings. He whispered a short apology at Matt as he ran over to the exit panel. However, the card didn't work there either.

"Great," Mauro said, crossing his arms. "I didn't sign up to this."

"What, you'd rather be a pet?" Foggy snapped, earning a retaliatory glare from Mauro.

Hussein ran towards the doors and tried to kick them open. He yelled in pain at the impact and hopped backwards on one leg. The door didn’t have as much as a dent.

Mike wandered the perimeter of the room with one hand on the wall, feeling the vibrations. Tammy and Elektra surveyed the roof, looking for gaps or weak points. Nothing. Then the squabbling started…

“It’s fun to watch you all fall apart like this,” Baz said over the intercom. “A couple of minutes in the box and you’ve already turned on each other. Fascinating. Really fascinating.”

“Let us out,” Foggy demanded. Matt elbowed him and hissed, “Foggy, you can’t just-”

“Matty, Matty,” Baz tutted, “let him try.”

“Will you let us out?” Foggy repeated.

“Uh, no. Of course not.”

“But you said-”

“I said you could _try_ ,” he laughed derisively. “Did you really think I’m going to let you just walk out of here?”

Foggy started to feel light headed and grabbed Matt’s shoulder for support, but Matt crumpled under his hand. He could hear the thumps of the others hitting the floor. Before he could even process what was going on, the world slipped out from beneath him and he fell with a heavy thud onto the cold concrete floor.


	18. The Devil of Hell's Kitchen

Matt woke up in the back of a van. The road was smoother on one side than the other – asphalt with a narrow shoulder, he guessed. The relative quiet outside and the speed of the vehicle suggested they were travelling along a regional road. The question of _why_ was another matter altogether. He pulled at his arms but they were tied fast behind his back.

“First to wake up this time, Matty,” Baz called from the driver’s seat. “That makes for a change. Tolerance maybe.”

“Wh-argh-” Matt cleared his throat. His mouth was dry from whatever they’d sedated him with and he licked his chapped lips to no avail. “Wh-where are you taking us?”

“Home, silly.”

Matt frowned. Through the lingering fog of sedation, he slowly counted the bodies in the back of the van, all of them still asleep. He located Foggy, Mop, Elektra and Stick’s other three protégés…

“Where’s Stick?”

“I thought you might be able to answer that one,” Baz said casually. “Poof! That guy’s a fucking ghost. Pretty impressive if you ask me.”

Matt tried to detect a lie, but he’d never really grasped the inconsistencies in Baz’s heartbeat. He was still unreadable.

“We’re going to miss you, Matty,” Baz continued. “Well, not the bloody disturbances - you really tested us there - but y’know, you could have been something. You could have been a star.”

Matt let his head roll forward. He was still drowsy and he couldn’t figure out if he was dreaming or hallucinating or what.

“You’re just going to let us go?” Matt slurred.

“Yeah, you’re a bit of a liability now that you know about project and all. Can’t have you spreading unrest.”

“Why not just kill us?” Matt asked, making Baz’s lackey in the passenger seat snort in amusement.

“Matty, dear Matty,” Baz sang, “do you really want to put that in my mind?”

“I dare say you’ve already considered it,” Matt retorted.

Foggy gave a weak grunt. “Matt?”

“And the Fogster comes second! Who do you think will be next?” Baz said in a faux conspiratorial tone.

Matt twisted his hands, trying desperately to untie the ropes.

“You don’t want to do that, Matty,” Baz said, but Matt didn’t try to hide his squirming. He continued to work the ropes around his wrists, even as Baz’s warnings escalated. Mop, Mauro and Elektra awoke just as Baz was issuing a threat to toss Matt out of the moving van.

“What’s going on?” Mauro asked.

“Well, Matty here suggested I kill you all-”

“I didn’t! I would never say that,” Matt said in a panic, realising almost immediately that he’d responded as Baz had intended. Angry, Matt pushed harder against the side of the van, rubbing the ropes against a small horizontal ridge in the van’s metal interior in a desperate attempt to wear them down.

“Right. I’ve had enough,” Baz said, pulling to a stop. Foggy fell hard against Matt, who was knocked sideways onto his back, his legs in the air like a turtle. Baz charged around to the back of the van and the doors swung open, bringing a wave of cool air that roused the other three. Matt experienced a surge of energy and somersaulted backwards onto his feet. He launched himself at Baz, headbutting him in the chest hard enough that Baz stumbled backwards. Matt tumbled into the grassy ditch and was just about to flip himself upright when Baz withdrew his tablet and pressed the button for the incapacitating high-pitched sound. Matt curled up in pain and could just make out Mike’s roar of agony as he experienced the same debilitating effect.

Finger still on the button, Baz and Tom hauled the rest of the group out of the van. One by one they were unceremoniously pushed into the ditch. Without further ado, the van screeched off in a cloud of dust.

Foggy was the first to talk. “What the hell just happened?”

“Uh, I think we might be free,” Mauro replied.

“But tied up like Christmas hams,” Foggy said.

“Speak for yourself,” muttered Hussein.

Matt struggled upright, still not quite recovered from the Baz’s sound weapon. He stumbled over to a nearby barbed-wire fence and started to saw the ropes that bound his wrists, awkwardly hunched at an angle. Just as the ropes dropped away, Elektra managed to untie herself, and the two of them worked on releasing the others.

“Where’s Stick?” Tammy asked.

“This is the question,” Matt replied. “You said he sent you to the compound. Do you know where it is? I need to find him.”

“You won’t find him,” Elektra said. “He finds you.”

“But we don’t know if he even got out. Come on, guys, tell me where the compound is.”

“I don’t know,” Hussein said to Matt. “We got taken there by Baz - just like you and Elektra.” Foggy, Mop and Mauro obviously weren’t worth Hussein’s consideration.

Matt scowled. “But you know where to find him.”

“As Ellie says, Stick finds you.”

“ _Ellie_ ,” Foggy snorted, and Elektra gave him a dirty look even though she didn’t like the nickname anymore than he did.

“Forget Stick,” Foggy said, their newfound freedom finally sinking in. “We have to go to the police, report those criminals, and rescue everyone else.”

“You’re right,” Matt said, helping Foggy to his feet. “Come on.”

“You don’t even know where we fucking are,” Elektra pointed out.

“We’re on the side of a road in the dark surrounded by farmland. We don’t know what time it is, or where the nearest town is-” Mauro added.

“-or what state we’re in,” Mop chimed in. “Do we even believe whoever said we’re in America?”

Matt dipped his head, trying to pinpoint a sound that might hint at any kind of civilisation. “That way,” he finally said, pointing to his left.

“No way,” Hussein said. Look at the stars. We don’t want to walk north. New York’s south.

“He can’t look at the stars, you idiot,” Foggy said.

Matt ignored Foggy’s outburst, telling Hussein, “we’re not walking to New York City. We don’t even know if we’re in the state. For all we know we could be in a different country. We just need to find the nearest town or dwelling.”

Hussein got to his feet. “Well, I’m going this way. You do what you want.”

Mike and Tammy followed Hussein. Elektra hesitated for a moment before following the trio. Mauro and Mop looked between the two groups, torn.

As Matt and Foggy turned to follow the road north, Elektra said telepathically, “Goodbye Matthew. I’ll see you at Columbia.” Matt smiled at her cool confidence.

Foggy spotted the small grin and said, “what is it?”

“Nothing,” Matt mumbled, but as he walked away, he raised a hand at Elektra as a goodbye, knowing she’d understand.

“Wait,” Mop yelled, running to catch up with Foggy and Matt. Mauro followed closely behind.

They trudged along the asphalt, sticking to the centre of the road to avoid the broken glass and rough pebbles along the shoulder. The asphalt was still slightly warm under their bare feet, suggesting that it was probably around midnight. They were lucky it was summer, Foggy thought. Their body suits were thin enough that they’d probably suffer frostbite if it were winter.

A couple of hours later, they arrived in a town large enough to have a manned police station at 2am. They stumbled in and Mauro burst into tears as soon as the door closed behind them.

“What’s all this about?” the officer on duty drawled, looking at the four bedraggled men wearing skin-tight beige bodysuits that left nothing to the imagination. They looked quite the sight.

Where to start? Matt finally stammered, “we were kidnapped. We escaped. You have to catch them.”

“You were kidnapped,” the officer repeated, raising his eyebrows.

“Yes,” Foggy said. “We’ve been held against our will for almost three months.”

The officer looked at each of them in turn, trying to work out if it was a joke. Eventually he said, “you should put some decent clothes on.”

Foggy opened his mouth to question the man’s priorities, but the officer added, “and then we can sit down and you can tell me all about this, er … _alleged_ kidnapping.”

The police station kept a stash of second hand clothes as a matter of course. Enough people had come in half-dressed and/or soiled that the department had started an unofficial wardrobe. The four men picked out the least offensive-looking clothes and fought over the pairs of shoes. Foggy ended up wearing a t-shirt with a Tasmanian Devil on it, along with camouflage cargo pants, socks and sandals. Matt’s outfit wasn’t much better, although he looked surprisingly good in a purple and fluoro green parachute tracksuit, even if it was paired with socks and Adidas slides.

Foggy pulled at his shoes. “Socks feel scratchy on my feet now.”

“You’re telling me. I’m tempted just to take them off and go barefoot,” Matt said.

As they returned to the main office, the officer surveyed the four men with his arms crossed. The corners of his mouth twitched as he struggled to disguise his amusement. The selection of available clothes was a bit of a running joke within the department, and the combination of things people wore out of the station never failed to entertain.

“You don’t happen to have a spare white cane do you?” Matt asked the officer.

“A what?”

“He’s blind,” Foggy pointed out.

“Oh, are you – I didn’t-” the officer stared at Matt, trying to figure out if they were serious. “I’m sorry, no cane.”

“It was a long shot,” Matt said with a polite nod.

“Come and sit down. Do you want tea, coffee, water?” the officer asked, still staring at Matt’s eyes.

“Can we get on with this?” Matt said. “You need to find the people that did this.”

“Okay,” the officer said, “pull up a chair.” He pulled out a pad of paper as they settled into their chairs. “Who were these people and where were you kept captive?”

“Most of them were Australian. Men,” Foggy started. “They were running an experiment called Infinito 6. We were forced to perform for, er, old people-”

“-aliens,” Mauro corrected, and Matt and Foggy suddenly realised that Mauro and Mop didn’t know of the deceit.

“They told us we were in a human circus performing for aliens visiting Earth, but we were in actual fact performing for the elderly,” Matt said. “By doing dangerous stunts we prolonged their lives.”

“One of them was 130 years old!” Foggy chimed in.

“It was a very sophisticated and expensive set-up,” Matt continued, “and they still have about thirty people held captive. You have to find them.”

“So you were kidnapped and forced to perform circus acts for not-aliens,” the officer summed up, his scepticism obvious. “And how did you get away from this, er, _sophisticated_ place?”

Mop, who had been silent up till now, replied in a small voice, “they dropped us off on the side of the road.”

“Well, we were about to escape and then they gassed us and we found ourselves in the back of a van and then they just left us in the middle of nowhere,” added Mauro.

The officer put down his pen and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “They voluntarily let you go?”

“Yes.”

“And these costumes of yours-”

“They made us wear them all the time,” Foggy said.

“Most of the time,” Mauro corrected. “When we performed we had beautiful outfits that we designed ourselves.”

The officer sighed. “This is a great story, boys. Can I call your parents or something? Maybe they can pick you up.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Foggy said, distressed. “We were kidnapped. You have to find the people who took us and free the others.”

“I don’t have parents,” Mop said softly.

“Nor do I,” Mauro said.

“Or I,” Matt added.

The officer looked at Foggy, who stuttered, “I- I have parents.”

“Can I call them for you?”

“I’m a grown up – I’m well into my twenties,” Foggy insisted. “We were kidnapped…” he petered off as he realised the officer had stopped listening. Eventually, Foggy capitulated and handed over his parents’ phone numbers.

Foggy’s father, Edward, was surprisingly happy to drive five hours return to pick them all up. The sun was rising just as they got back to New York City. After coffee and toast, Mop and Mauro departed almost immediately, keen to get away from anything and everything that reminded them of the ordeal.

Matt pulled into the living room as soon as the others had left. “What do we tell your parents?” he whispered.

Foggy threw himself onto the couch with a groan. “The truth.”

“You heard how ridiculous that sounded though, right? Even _I’m_ finding it hard to believe it happened. You must know that it’s ridiculous – you held off telling your dad earlier and that’s not something you’d normally do, Fog.”

Foggy put his head in his hands and leaned forward, tired and confused. “You’re right. But we can’t just leave the others there.”

“I know. We’ll find a way. And if the authorities refuse to act, we’ll find a way outside the law.”

“Matt, I know you probably want to come up with some crazy plan right now, but I really need to go to bed. I mean, in the last twelve or so hours, we’ve fought a dozen security guards, been drugged conscious, been thrown out of van, walked barefoot for a couple of hours on a regional road, and failed to convince a rural police officer that they’d been kidnapped by pseudo-aliens,” Foggy joked. “All in a day’s work – or night’s work really.”

“I can’t believe we did it. We escaped,” Matt said, finally flopping down on the couch. He looked wan and bleary-eyed with exhaustion.

“Of course were going to-” But before Foggy could finish, his little sister, Candice, flew at him. She squeezed him tight before stepping back to admire Foggy’s new physique. She whistled. “Big brother, you’re ripped. Although your fashion sense hasn’t improved I see.” She snorted and said good humouredly, “camo cargo pants. Really?”

Foggy gave her a withering look. “They’re not our clothes. It’s nice to see you again though. Give me another hug.” Foggy stood up for a second embrace, but Candice moved aside for their mother, who was desperate for a hug.

“Boys,” Foggy’s mother said warmly, giving Foggy and an embarrassed Matt an affectionate kiss. “What a surprise. We weren’t expecting you back for another couple of weeks. What happened?”

When Foggy and Matt didn’t reply, Edward called from the kitchen, “well, Anna, they won’t tell me. I was hoping they’d tell you. Maybe it’s a mom thing.”

"Uh, it’s because we can't really remember,” Foggy improvised. “We woke up tied in a ditch in the middle of nowhere."

"Our van and all our belongings are gone," Matt added.

"And what did the police say?" Anna prompted.

"They- he didn't really believe us."

"What?!"

Foggy shrugged. "They thought we were playing a prank."

"Did you tell them you were Columbia law students?"

"Mom, I don't think that would have worked."

"We'll call Brett. Did you hear he's an officer now?"

Foggy rolled his eyes. "Leave it, please. We just want to rest and get ready for school in- uh - when do we go back?"

"Could you tell us the date please, Anna,” Matt said, ever polite.

“I’ll look it up. I think you go back on the sixteenth.”

"No, I mean today's date."

“It’s the second.”

“Two weeks,” Matt murmured. Foggy leaned sideways and bumped shoulders as if to say ‘yeah, we did it.’

Anna didn’t notice the celebratory exchange though. She was still stuck on the police matter and was quickly launching into one of her legendary and fearsome rants. "I'm going to call up and complain. How dare they not believe you. Who did you speak to again? Did you get their ID number?"

Foggy ran his fingers through his hair. "No, mom, _please_. I can - we'll follow it up tomorrow. Right now all we want to do is sleep."

She paused. "I’m sorry, darling, you're right. We'll make up the spare bedroom."

"Uh, Anna," Matt said. "Do you think - could I sleep in Foggy's room tonight?"

"Oh.. _ohhh_..." Anna said, pieces clicking into place. "Uh, sure. But it's a single bed-"

"It’s not like that," Foggy interrupted. "Just a mattress on the floor. The whole thing has been a bit scary-"

"And Foggy's snoring is familiar and calming," Matt said with a smirk.

"I don't snore," Foggy grumbled.

 

* * *

 

The two weeks passed in a miasma of confusion and gloom. The adrenaline they rode throughout the escape and the initial joy of being free again, came with a corresponding crash. The whole experience barely seemed real now that they were back in the Nelson family home.

On the upside, being held captive for two and half months meant that they still had all their summer road trip savings, which allowed them new mobile phones, new sets of clothes, a new cane and glasses for Matt, another set up braille textbooks for Matt ("See? I told you it was unwise to bring them on the roadtrip," Foggy had reminded Matt.), and a substantial sum left over for a post-graduation holiday (if they were feeling brave enough). They had to order new bankcards and library cards and student ID cards, which cumulatively seemed to take up the entire two weeks.

When they weren't trying to scrape together their old lives, they spent most of their time camped in front of the television, watching movies and TV shows in an attempt to forget. They both kept up their exercise regimes, although Matt’s schedule verged on unhealthy obsession as he tried desperately to get his abs back. They combed the internet trying to find information about Infinito 6, but there was nothing. In the end, they agreed to leave it be for now because any mention of the incident would result in a distressed Foggy and a seething Matt.

The difference in their reactions to the kidnapping became even clearer once they returned to Columbia. Foggy became somewhat agoraphobic, only leaving their dorm room to attend class, the gym (Matt’s influence) and visit the cafeteria. Even then, he mostly ate meals in the dorm room alone. Meanwhile, Matt went off the rails. As promised, Elektra had returned to Columbia for the new school year, and she and Matt had started dating. He started cutting class and neglecting his studies. Then one day he returned to the dorm looking absolutely shattered. He had a mighty gash across his forehead and walked with a heavy limp. Nothing Foggy said could get Matt to talk. Instead, Matt curled up in bed and remained there for nearly two weeks straight, barely talking or eating. Foggy couldn’t work out what to do. It was worryingly similar to Matt’s reaction to Julia’s death.

Eventually, college administration got involved, threatening Matt with expulsion if he missed any more class. When it became clear that Foggy was equally as unwell, both roommates were referred to psychologists. It was the wake up call Matt evidently needed because he went on to graduate top of the class, with Foggy not far behind. They both received highly sought-after jobs with the law firm Frank & Browne, which specialised in international law. Better still, the firm was well known for its pro bono work in human trafficking and slavery – a subject both friends were understandably interested in.

* * *

 

Six months after graduation, they sat in a dive bar in Hell’s Kitchen celebrating the arrest of a number of key players in a local human trafficking ring. Foggy slid a beer over to Matt, and casually said, “you know, I heard that the police had some help from a local vigilante.”

Matt raised his eyebrows and took a swig of his beer.

Foggy continued, “apparently he’s becoming quite well known among the criminals of Hell’s Kitchen.”

“You don’t say,” Matt said, stone faced.

“Apparently they call him ‘The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.’ You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

Matt obviously missed the humour in Foggy’s voice, stammering, “Foggy, I-I can explain…”

Foggy huffed in amusement. “All you have to explain is why you didn’t get me to make you the costume.”

Matt stilled. “So you’re not mad?”

“No, in retrospect it’s seems pretty inevitable.”

Matt screwed up his face. “ _Inevitable?_ ”

“I can read you like a book, Murdock. You’re not as mysterious as you like to believe. Just let me know if you ever find out anything about – you know. I want to be there when we take Baz down. Oh, and you need to let me make you a better costume. I’m pretty offended that you cobbled together an outfit without consulting your master costume maker.”

Matt smiled. “Okay, but on one condition: no floppy horns.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone who read, lurked, left kudos, and/or commented on this story. I've had some very dedicated commenters who have definitely encouraged me along the way.
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment and thanks again for reading. I hope you enjoyed it, and I hope I haven't made you scared of Australians or the elderly.
> 
> Update: if you want to know what happened to Mop, there's a short thing in the comments.


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